


The Revelation of All Things

by EllenEmbee



Series: Revelations [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crisis of Faith, Dreams and Nightmares, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Graphic Description, Jealousy, Light Angst, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Multi, Mutual Pining, POV Cullen Rutherford, POV Inquisitor, POV Multiple, Past Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Questioning, Reluctant Hero, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Denial, Self-Discovery, Seriously Sloooow Burn, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-17 02:38:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 72
Words: 410,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8127176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenEmbee/pseuds/EllenEmbee
Summary: Haunted by the mistakes of her past, Evana Lavellan feels (reluctantly) compelled to stay and help the newly dubbed "Inquisition" close the Breach. But no longer than that. After all, they only care for her welfare because of the mark on her hand.Unfortunately, every mission seems to take her further away from her goal instead of closer to it. But each refugee saved and disaster averted also brings with it a sliver of tranquility, a fleeting taste of atonement for past wrongs. Surrounded by new people - new friends - she discovers a wider world than she'd ever imagined with her clan, a world in which she has the power to improve the lives of both elves AND mages.Strangest of all, she finds herself drawn to an unlikely friend and confidant in Inquisition's ex-templar military advisor who, like her, is all too familiar with the bitter taste of regret... and the fragile touch of hope.**Game scenes/dialogue included but also tons of original "in-between" moments, dialogue, character development and introspection. Super mild AU for shuffling conversation locations and tweaking the order of events. Quizzy is my own. Rating will update with content.





	1. In which a Reluctant Hero is born

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a long fic. The first chapter starts with an in-game scene and ends with an original scene. Tons of exposition for now, but future chapters are heavier on dialogue.

First, there was pain. Centering in the palm of her left hand and radiating up her arm, the spurts of agony seemed to be correlated with a sputtering, crackling sound.

Then a permeating cold.

Then the jangle of chains. Shackles around her wrists.

Terror shot through Evana Lavellan as she opened her eyes and looked up at the darkened stone walls of a dungeon… with no memory of how she got there. Her breathing increased into rapid, staccato beats as she tried to remember…

The crackling sounds started again, and she cried out in horror as a glowing green light emanated from her palm and pain shot up her arm once again. At the same moment, the door to the dungeon flew open revealing a dark-haired warrior woman and a hooded woman in gray, or perhaps purple, armor.

Hairs stood up on the back of her neck as the dark-haired warrior leaned down to her. “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now. The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for _you_.”

She could barely comprehend the words through her terror and confusion. The Conclave destroyed? The last thing she remembered, she was entering the Temple of Sacred Ashes to watch the Conclave participants argue about how to solve the hostilities between templars and mages. Then she woke up chained in a dungeon.

Panic set in. _What had happened?!_

She tried to respond. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. What could she even say? Fragments of memories attempted to coalesce, but she couldn’t focus on anything but those awful words...

_Everyone who attended is dead._

Before she could order her thoughts enough to put a sentence together, the warrior yanked at her hand and lifted her palm as the green light crackled into existence again. The pain was less intense this time, but Evana couldn’t help gasping.

“Explain this!”

“I… I can’t!”

“What do you mean you _can’t_?”

Evana heard the desperation in her own voice as she responded. “I don’t know what that is, or how it got there!”

Suddenly the warrior woman grabbed her shoulders and violently shook her. “You’re lying!”

Evana could feel the tears threatening as panic clawed at her chest, but she held them back. She _had_ to remain calm. After a few seconds, the hooded woman intervened.

“We need her, Cassandra.”

Evana vaguely registered the name as the hooded woman pushed the warrior back toward the door. Finally, some things started to sink in. The Temple had been filled with hundreds of people… and now it was destroyed. _Oh… Creators._

“I can’t believe it. All those people… dead?” she whispered, more to herself than to those with her.

The hooded woman approached her now. “Do you remember what happened? How this began?”

Blurry images flashed through her consciousness. “I remember running… _Things_ were chasing me. And then… a woman?”

“A woman?”

The hooded woman sounded surprised, but she quickly shuttered her expression once more.

“She reached out to me, but then…” The images seemed to sputter out, and Evana growled in frustration edged with panic. “I- I don’t remember!”

Cassandra walked with the hooded woman to the door. “Go to the forward camp, Leliana. I will take her to the rift.”

Evana took a tremulous breath. Cassandra the warrior and Leliana the hooded woman were going to take her somewhere. Although still a prisoner, at least she wouldn’t be left in the dungeon to rot. As Cassandra bent down to her, Evana looked down and braced herself against another assault, but the woman just went about releasing the shackles around her wrists. They were taking her to something called a “rift.” She took a deep breath and tried to calm her racing heart. Letting the panic take over wasn’t going to help anyone. She needed to know the truth.

“What- What _did_ happen?” she tentatively asked the stern-looking warrior.

Cassandra helped her up from the floor where she’d been kneeling and spoke in a voice much softer and more controlled than before. “It… will be easier to show you.”

They walked up stairs and out of a large stone building - Evana assumed another one of their religious buildings. She walked out into the snowy, mountainous landscape, and then froze as her eyes turned upward. She could only stare at the sky in horror. There, above the mountains, a massive hole had sundered the sky. As she gaped at the rend in the sky, her brain filled with a thousand questions. One thing, however, was now very clear - the tear glowed a bright, sickly green… the same green as the crackling light that occasionally poured from her hand.

_No wonder they think I’m to blame!_

“We call it the ‘Breach.’ It’s a massive rift into the world of demons - the Fade - that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“An explosion can do _that_?

Cassandra turned her gaze from the sky. Her cold eyes held Evana’s.

“This one did. Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

Suddenly, the Breach exploded with light… as did Evana’s palm. The pain shooting up her arm was the most excruciating yet. She cried out and fell to her knees. _Creators, how did this happen?! And why me? Why did I not die with all the others?_

Cassandra crouched beside Evana, her tone dispassionate. “Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads… and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

As much as she tried, Evana couldn’t stop the tears that squeezed out the corners of her eyes. She fought them back with everything she had, but this - the pain, the horror, the death, the _Breach_ \- it was too much. Waves of sorrow and pain overwhelmed her, but she took a tremulous breath and steeled herself anyway. What else could she do? Fall apart while world was swallowed up around her? Everything in her - all her training - rebelled at the very thought.

“I understand,” she murmured in a low, determined tone.

Cassandra looked at her, skepticism written all over her face. “Then… ?”

“I’ll do what I can. Whatever it takes.”

If this mark would kill her anyway, she might as well help as much as she could in the time that remained. She literally had nothing to lose.

Cassandra helped her up and pushed her through the small town that surrounded the stone religious building and into the hills beyond. The townspeople glowered at her as she passed by. Cassandra explained they needed a scapegoat - her - to help them deal with the loss of their “most holy” religious leader, the Divine Justinia. Evana remembered the Divine from the Conclave. The holy woman had organized the talks to find a solution for the mage and templar conflicts that were tearing Thedas apart. Had been. Now, something else entirely was tearing their world apart.

Now _everyone was dead_.

“Fenedhis,” she cursed under her breath. “Creators, give me strength.”

Everything that happened after seemed a blur. She was to test her mark on a smaller “rift” before heading to the “Breach.” Every so often a pulse from the expanding Breach would stop her in her tracks, driving her to her knees as she clutched her arm to her body in agony. She’d never felt such pain before.

Demons attacked them along the way, and Cassandra reluctantly allowed Evana to keep the staff she’d found. Not that she really needed it for her magic to work, but it helped focus her power into more potent spells.

For a split second, she thought of running… but then quickly discarded the idea. As long as the Breach remained and continued to grow, she was tied to this mess with her very life. And deep inside, she knew she couldn’t just leave them to their fate. The more she observed, the more she realized these people were fighting for all of Thedas, not just themselves. How could she do any less? Fighting for Thedas meant fighting for the lives of her elven clan - her People. She strapped the staff to her back, and they continued toward the rift.

Along the way, she met two more people, a dwarf named Varric Tethras, and another elf like herself named Solas. He was not of the Dalish elven - he didn’t have any face tattoos as she did - but he was at least of the People. And like her, he was also a mage. She felt better knowing another elven mage was in the group. The other elf guided her in how to close a small rift near the ground. Apparently, she only had to hold her hand up to begin the process. It was painful, but not as painful as when the Breach expanded.

She also met a Chancellor Roderick, some kind of holy person in his own right, but clearly not as important as the Divine. He only served to arouse an emotion Evana had yet to experience in all this… anger. He was rude, pompous and seemed content to wait around for “proper procedures” while the people around him died attempting to stem the flow of demons pouring from rifts all around them.

Cassandra shut down the Chancellor, and suddenly, Evana found them all looking to her as they debated the best route to the Breach. They could work with the soldiers already in the valley and use a steady, sustained frontal attack against the demons that had poured from the giant Breach. Or they could take a faster, but possibly more dangerous, mountain path and approach the temple from the side.

“Now you’re asking me what _I_ think?”

Solas shrugged. “You have the mark.”

Cassandra nodded. “And you are the one we must keep alive. Since we cannot agree on our own…”

She took a deep breath. The entire thing was preposterous - one minute a prisoner, the next making strategic decisions for a motley group of mages, warriors and rogues. Mimicking Solas, she shrugged.

“I say to use the mountain path. Work together. We all know what’s at stake."

So they took a faster route through the mountains, fighting demons, saving scouts held up by enemy forces and closing more rifts as they came upon them. Finally, they moved out of the upper passes and descended into the Temple. The carnage all around galled her. Bile rose up in her throat, and she nearly wretched at the site of the burned, mangled bodies all around her.

_No! Move on. Breathe. You must move on. And breathe. Get to the Breach._

After that, she kept her eyes straight forward. Soon, they arrived at a giant rift in the center of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The Breach swirled in the sky directly above.

Cassandra approached her. “This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”

“I’ll try,” she said hesitantly as she looked up toward the giant tear, “but I don’t know if I can reach it, much less close it.”

Solas shook his head and pointed down to the rift at the bottom of the temple. “No, this rift was the first, and it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach, too.”

The Temple floor was several feet below. It was lined with massive red crystals that seemed to be growing directly out of the ground. Varric called it “red” lyrium and warned everyone not to touch the stuff. Although her Dalish clan was too remote - and poor - to have access to lyrium, she knew about it. The typical blue-ish silvery substance enhanced magical abilities, but she’d never seen the red version before. It hummed out a twisted song that made her head hurt if she got too close, so she made sure to stay as far away as possible. As she jumped down into the crater of the Temple, a sinister voice rang out all around them.

“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”

Cassandra’s voice took on a hesitant tone. “What are we hearing?”

“At a guess? The person who created the Breach,” Solas responded.

Then, the Divine’s voice cried out from the rift. “Someone, help me!”

Evana started and jumped back a little bit as she heard her own voice respond, “What’s going on here?”

Cassandra spoke her thoughts. “That was your voice. Most Holy called out to you. But…”

Before she could comment further, the rift contorted, and they saw the scene come to life before their eyes. Evana saw the Divine, tied up and looking terrified as a dark, demon presence hovered over her. Then, as if in a dream, she saw herself approach.

“What’s going on here?!”

The image of the Divine shouted at her dream self. “Run while you can! Warn them!”

The sinister voice echoed through the temple again, coming from the demonic presence near the image of the Divine. “We have an intruder. Kill her. Now!”

Cassandra ran up to her, accusation in her looks and voice. “You _were_ there! Who attacked? And the Divine… is she…? Was this vision true? What are we seeing?”

Evana shook her head, frantically combing her memories for something, _anything_. “I don’t _remember_!”

Cassandra just shook her head and then moved to join Solas. Apparently they would have to reopen the improperly closed rift in order to then seal it again properly. What followed was the most intense fight of Evana’s life. She was already exhausted from killing so many demons, and the massive Pride demon that exploded from the reopened rift nearly brought her to her knees. Eventually, her partners helped bring down the demon, and she resealed the rift. A massive burst of energy ripped through the temple, and Evana knew no more.

 

**

 

The door closed behind her with a soft click, and Evana stood outside her quarters, adjusting to the cold on her face. Everything still felt so surreal, like it wasn’t really happening.

 _Any time now, I’ll wake up and find this has all been an elaborate nightmare_ , she thought.

It’s not that she didn’t want to help. If it were true that, through either a divine intervention or random chance, the mark on her hand would save all of Thedas from the Breach in the sky threatening to tear the world apart, she was all in. How could she _not_ be? But a tiny part of her still held out hope that it wasn’t real. That the images burned into her brain, haunting her waking and sleeping thoughts, of the corpses frozen in horror around the Temple of Sacred Ashes weren’t real. That she’d wake up under a tree somewhere with her clan’s Keeper, Deshanna Istimaethoriel Lavellan, looking down at her with that mildly disapproving yet wholly amused look she often bestowed upon Evana. She pinched her cheeks to check.

_Nothing. Still here._

She sighed softly and pulled on the thick leather gloves that the blacksmith, Harritt, had presented to her just yesterday and placed an expertly knitted cap on her head. The cap was a gift from one of the residents who had overheard her saying that she hated being cold. There were matching gloves, too, both knitted from the softest wool and dyed a lovely dark brown. She hadn’t really known how to respond when the woman presented them to her this morning - less than a week after waking up from the most painful and terrifying experience of her life. So, she’d immediately put them on and thanked the woman awkwardly. The woman had seemed pleased, but Evana still didn’t know her name.

The snow creaked under her feet as she walked out of the gates and looked toward the setting sun. _At least another half hour of sunlight_ , she thought. It would have to be enough.

She walked out past the recruits cleaning up equipment after afternoon exercises and headed up the hill. She needed exercise - something physical to alleviate her restlessness. She’d been cooped up in endless meetings off and on all week with the three main leaders of a group trying to restore order, and her limbs ached with tension.

The group had started out under the orders of the Divine Justinia to assist in finding a solution to the mage and templar hostilities, but now, the three focused solely on the Breach. The leaders were Sister Leliana, the spymaster and Left Hand of the Divine that she’d met in the religious building’s dungeon (which she now knew was a “Chantry” building); Josephine Montilyet, an ambassador and diplomat; and Commander Cullen Rutherford, a former templar and leader of the military forces. Cassandra had been there, too, but despite her direct involvement in creating the group as the Right Hand of the Divine, she had avoided taking on a specific role in the organization, instead content to go wherever she was needed. When Evana awoke, the leaders had invoked some sort of religious rite and dubbed themselves the “Inquisition,” a name and purpose taken from their Chantry’s history, apparently.

In the time she’d been with them, part of which she’d spent unconscious after stabilizing - though not closing - the Breach, she’d endured lessons about everything from proper etiquette to filling requisitions to requesting potions. She was a Dalish elf, First to the Keeper Deshanna, and therefore used to being a receptacle for knowledge, but this… it was all just... so foreign. Everything except the potions, though her people generally just called them teas. Unfortunately, she didn’t have supplies for her favorite calming tea, yet. Until then, she could only run and climb to calm the doubts and fears raging inside her - or attempt to, anyway. She had decided to stay and help, but the burden already overwhelmed her. She had to get away, even if only for a moment.

The new snow was heavier and had drifted over sections of the path, hampering her stride. _All the better!_ After ten minutes of running and struggling with the snow, she was panting. She leaned against the smooth bark of a nearby tree to catch her breath. Looking up, the setting sun created a stark contrast on each side of the tree. The warm glow invited her to bask in its glory, so she jumped up, caught a lower branch and easily pulled herself up and over. As a mage, she wasn’t as strong as the hunters and warriors in her clan, but she’d spent plenty of time in the forests hunting with her mother and was stronger than most realized. Also, more agile. She balanced lightly on the thin branch, but the sun was still shielded from her view by the trees around her. She climbed higher. Finally, about twenty feet up, she sat down on a sturdy branch and reveled in the final rays of sun.

 _No soft wool gloves would have survived that climb,_ she thought. She looked at the new leather gloves with appreciation. She’d introduced herself to Harritt the blacksmith on her first full, conscious day in Haven, and they’d hit it off immediately, mostly due to her knowledge and interest in crafting. She had not requested the gloves from him, however. They were a gift, Harritt had said, to help her feel more at home “in a place that probably felt very little like it.” The tops of the gloves were coated with a fine net of chain mail that had been woven in with the leather to create a wonderfully complex pattern of metal and leather. They still needed to be worn in, but that would come with time. The newly scratched palms were proof enough of that. She honestly didn’t know if she could do better herself - Harritt was truly a master craftsman. Perhaps someday soon, he would allow her to craft something of her own.

In the Lavellan clan, she was First in line to be the next Keeper of her clan, but she hadn’t always wanted that title. She still wasn’t sure she wanted it, actually. Much like being recently named the “Herald of Andraste” to a religion she didn’t know anything about because of a magical mark she had no memory of receiving, there was part of her that didn’t want to be the Keeper of her clan.

From a young age, she’d been fascinated with the forge. It had the power to turn hard, unyielding iron into beautiful, flowing rivers of red hot liquid. It never failed to amaze her. So, she had apprenticed with the clan’s crafter Vash’an for many years, even after her magic had appeared, and learned that the forge was only one small piece of the puzzle. Becoming a true crafter required immense dedication, and Evana had spent hours practicing intricate embossing, carving and stitching designs as well as hammer techniques for the forge.

As her magical abilities manifested, however, she was quietly redirected to apprentice under Keeper Deshanna. She loved learning new things, so it was not a great sacrifice. In fact, it was an honor. She knew that. And she enjoyed all the reading, learning and research involved in preserving and restoring the history of the People… her people.

And yet…

When she came of age, she chose a vallaslin honoring the elven god June, God of the Craft. Keeper Deshanna had tattooed the strong lines that started on her forehead, wound around her eyes and tapered at her cheeks, then started again from a thin line on her bottom lip and branched down her neck. Her short white hair covered most of her forehead now, but the violet markings - just a shade darker than her blue-violet eyes - reminded her of where she started. They grounded her in the simple pleasure of crafting something strong and useful with her hands. And though it was much more limited than before, any of her extra time outside of her duties had been devoted to Vash’an and assisting him in his work.

The sound of footsteps below pulled her from her reverie. They were coming from the opposite direction she had, and she could tell the exact moment the person below came across her footprints in the snow. With the last of the sun’s rays shining in her face, she shaded her eyes and peered down into the relative darkness to see who was below her.

Her eyes adjusted quickly, and she started as she found herself staring down at Commander Cullen. They had interacted in long and detailed professional conversations nearly every day in war council meetings, but she had yet to talk with him outside of that context. It felt strange and frightening to be alone with a templar - however “ex” he might claim to be. Her only other experience with templars had been horrific, and the fear that now wound through her came from that part of her she’d buried long ago. The Commander hadn’t done anything to alarm her so far, but they’d known each other for less than a week.

“Herald?”

Surprise permeated his rich, baritone voice, but she detected no signs of annoyance or attempt at intimidation. In fact, this voice sounded entirely different - softer, more hesitant - than the commanding tone she’d come to expect in war council meetings. She relaxed slightly. Despite her inner turmoil, she put on a chipper facade.

“Hello there, Commander! How are you this evening?”

“I- I’m fine. Is... uh... everything alright?”

His stumbling words confused her. Cocking her head to the side slightly, she looked down at him, evaluating his face for signs of insincerity. She’d never seen him be anything but confident and in control, but despite the strange behavior, his face reflected nothing but concern. This seemed to be a new side of the Commander of the Inquisition. Evana let out a soft puff of amusement. _Do humans not climb trees?_

“Yes, thank you. I was taking a walk and decided to enjoy the last bit of sun.”

“In a tree?”

He stared at her incredulously. She laughed out loud this time and took that as her answer. Humans did _not_ normally climb trees.

“It’s not as rare among the elves as it seems to be among humans. I just needed some time to...” Why had she started that sentence? She couldn’t think of a chipper way to end it, so she simply sighed and spoke the vaguest truth she could manage. “... to decompress a bit.”

“Ah. I understand. We are all a bit overwhelmed by recent events.”

He stopped speaking, and after a moment, she turned to face the sun once again. His tone and words of understanding surprised her, as did the fact that he didn’t immediately move away from the tree. Was he still looking up at her? She continued to stare out over the treetops but spoke to alleviate what she thought might be the source of his concern.

“I’ll be heading back to Haven soon.”

She could hear him shuffling in the snow with his boots, and she marveled again at the difference. The man standing below bore little resemblance to the commander debating in the war council, the commander training his troops outside Haven, the commander giving his lieutenants orders. She almost wondered if it really _were_ him. He seemed… shy. Or if not shy, certainly awkward. She found it vaguely endearing… which frightened her even more than his magic-cancelling templar abilities. An endearing templar? Had the explosion knocked all sense out of her head? She needed him to leave before she said something awkward herself.

“I promise I _am_ coming back,” she added in a matter-of-fact tone.

The shuffling stopped instantly. “Oh! No, I didn’t mean… that is… I wasn’t trying to imply…” He paused and then finally sighed and continued, “It’s just… It can be dangerous out here after dark. Wild animals and such. And, well, I thought you might be... cold up there.”

“No more cold than down there.”

Either the answer satisfied him or he was eager to be on his way as well. “Very well, Herald. Enjoy your sunshine.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

She listened to him trudge off toward Haven, but the sound of his boots was soon lost in the soft shuffling of a light breeze rustling through pine needles.

“Well. That was interesting,” she said to the bird that had just perched on the tip of her branch.

Did the Commander usually take afternoon walks? Or was he keeping tabs on her? That would be a natural thing for a templar to do to a mage. He had sounded legitimately surprised to see her, but that could have just been surprise at seeing her in a tree. And his apparent shock at her promise to not run away - she hadn’t needed to see his face to know that he really had been quite flustered.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it,” she continued on to the bird. It looked at her quizzically, head tilted to the side. “I’ll be here long enough to help them seal the Breach in the sky and save the world, as I promised. Then it’s back north to my clan, and I’ll never see these people again.”

Something in her chest tightened the tiniest bit as she said the words, but she decided not to think about possible reasons for it. It wasn’t as if the Inquisition were any better than being with her clan. In fact, the fledgling organization would likely prove to be decidedly more dangerous than the dense forests and lush plains of the Free Marches. They’d told her when she awoke that she was free to go, but how could she leave when she seemed to be the only hope of fixing this mess? They had also pointed out that she would still be a target because of her mark, and they wouldn’t be able to protect her if she went home. By returning before the Breach had been sealed, she would be responsible for making her clan a target for violence… again.

As with most things in her life, she hadn't wanted it, but she'd gotten it, nonetheless. And she _would_ make the most of it. When this was over, though, she would leave them. Of course she would. Why would she stay?

The tightness in her chest remained, and a voice deep in her subconscious whispered to her - _because despite how it started, you already feel more free here, more accepted, than in your own clan_. She pushed the thought down hastily and tried to turn her thoughts to other things. It was useless to think of what could never be.

The sun had nearly fallen behind the horizon by the time she climbed down the tree. For good measure - and to reach her own warm fire as soon as possible - she ran back the way she came, working her cold, stiff limbs loose again. As she approached the frozen lake outside of the gates into town, she saw the Commander’s figure walking toward the military tents pitched all around the walls of Haven. She paused for a moment, thinking of staying back until he was out of the way. They should be mortal enemies - she technically an apostate mage and he a former templar - which was why she always gave him a wide berth. But the wind already bit cruelly at her face, and her toes began to turn numb. Despite her assurances to the Commander, it _had_ been colder up in that tree.

“Hang it all!” she exclaimed softly under her breath as she picked up running again.

Trying not to get too close as she approached him from behind, she saw the exact moment the Commander heard her. He turned quickly, fingers curling around the grip of his sword, so she waved to him and smiled cheerily as she ran toward him. His face clouded with confusion. Finally, she reached his position and ran on past him at full speed into the gates.

 _No looking back_.


	2. In which a Seeker seeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra reflects on their new Herald and gets some insight from a surprising source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two!
> 
> I've decided on a format for the rotating POV. They will be in three-chapter sets. The first from the Quizzy POV, the second from another main character's POV (Cassandra's in this set), and the third from Cullen's POV. It will be a challenge to get through the entire story this way, but what can I say? I'm a glutton for punishment.

“Have you seen the Herald?” Cassandra sat down on Varric’s bench with a thud and looked at him hopefully. The Herald had seemed to warm to the dwarf in the last two weeks - at least, warm to him as much as she had to anyone. “I cannot find her anywhere.”

Shading her eyes against the late afternoon sun, Cassandra glared at Varric in an attempt to intimidate a more immediate response. As usual, it didn’t work. He glanced at her impassively as he continued to oil down the stock of his beloved crossbow, Bianca, humming noncommittally as if he were thinking about it.

She had already been to the Herald’s cabin, to the Chantry, to the potion maker’s and to the tavern as well as asked Solas, Josephine and Leliana to no avail, though Leliana had cryptically stated they would know soon enough. The spymaster wouldn’t elaborate, however, so as much as Cassandra might hate asking the sarcastic dwarf for anything, Varric appeared to be her last hope.

“Have you tried Harritt’s?” he finally responded as he held up the crossbow to evaluate his work and then gave the Seeker of Truth a sidelong glance. “She seems to spend a lot of time there when she isn’t being all Herald-y.”

She shook her head. “I came from that direction, remember? She was not there.”

“Did you ask Curly while you were there?”

Her brows came down in confusion. “Why would I ask the Commander?”

Varric raised an eyebrow at her. “Because he’s always out front training recruits this time of day and might’ve seen our illustrious Herald going out for a walk or something.”

“But I would have seen her, too!”

Varric shrugged and continued cleaning Bianca. “Suit yourself, Seeker. But I saw you coming from that direction,” he jerked his thumb back toward the Chantry, the opposite direction from the town gates, “so maybe you missed something in all your rushing around?”

Cassandra stood up and watched him for a moment longer before letting out a frustrated sigh. “Ugh. You are no help!”

Varric’s grating chuckle followed her as she turned away, passed through the gates of Haven and looked once more toward the smith. Harritt was busy working on a new sword for the Commander, but the Herald of Andraste was nowhere to be seen. The snowy-haired elf could typically be found hanging around Harritt when there was no immediate Inquisition business to attend to, but up to this point, she had also been ready and willing to learn whenever they asked, even if she had continued to be distant and reserved with them all. Cassandra supposed she couldn’t blame the Herald for that. After imprisoning and interrogating her about the explosion at the Temple, the elf had a right to be cool with them.

But in spite of her distance, the war table meetings had been fruitful and productive with the Herald asking pertinent questions and following up by repeating details to be sure she understood the topics of discussion. Each day, Cassandra had grown more impressed with the Herald’s grasp of all they asked of her. But considering Cassandra’s first, disappointing impression of the diminutive elven mage, it hadn’t been difficult to improve on the Seeker’s original opinion - an opinion that now seemed somewhat unjustified.

_Which is a good thing_ , Cassandra reminded herself. The elf might not be the warrior they’d wished for, but she had adjusted well to her new role with them. And Cassandra grudgingly admitted to herself that a mage might actually be better suited for the task of handling a magical mark.

Still, Cassandra worried. She would never let it show, of course, but she had given up everything - her position as Right Hand to the Divine, her place in the Chantry’s Seekers of Truth - to declare this Inquisition. If they failed… if this unknown Dalish elf couldn’t handle the pressures sure to come with such a title as Herald of Andraste…

The Chantry, the religious organization to which she had devoted her life, had declared her and their Inquisition a heretical group. Cassandra had risked everything on a gamble that they could act when the Chantry could - or would - not. Stymied in political acrobatics and bogged down by processes and procedure, the Chantry had become ineffectual - a shadow of its former self. But she could not stand idle when there was work to be done. She would not wait for them to decide on a path forward. It would be too late by then. The Inquisition presented a solution, and it encouraged Cassandra to see the intelligence and competence exhibited by their fledgling Herald if only because it soothed her own raging doubts and fears about the true consequences of their actions.

If the Inquisition didn’t succeed - or at least become much more powerful - in the time it took the Chantry to reorganize itself, Cassandra had no doubt the Chantry would do everything in its power to crush their organization.

_No. I must have faith. The Chantry has lost its way, but the Maker and His Bride will guide my steps._

Cassandra took in a deep, cleansing breath and focused anew on her task. Despite their Herald’s general willingness to help, she had been oddly quiet at the war table today. They’d discussed the necessity of sending a team to the Fallow Mire to look into reports of several rifts there. Every day, new reports reached them of rifts all over the kingdom of Ferelden, and the newest report from the Hinterlands tripled the number of rifts verified by Leliana’s scouts.

The sheer number of rifts and their distance away from the original explosion astonished Cassandra. What kind of powerful magic could cause an explosion, a Breach in the sky and still have enough residual power to cause smaller rifts in the Veil between their world and the world of demons - rifts that were _hundreds_ of miles away? The thought of such power in the hands of an evil being caused a shiver of dread to run up her spine as she wandered past the smith’s in search of the Herald.

At today’s meeting, they’d also discussed retrieving a certain Mother Giselle from the refugee camps in the Hinterlands. She was there helping those caught in the middle of the mage and templar conflict, so it would be necessary to end the conflict there and convince the well-connected Mother to come with them. She was their best chance to convince the Chantry to validate the Inquisition and work with the Inquisition to close the Breach. It would aid their cause to have the Chantry working with instead of against them.

Cassandra wouldn’t hold her breath for that, however, not with what she knew of disgusting Chantry politics.

The mention of closing the Breach had brought up more conversations and questions as they’d stood around the great war table in the Haven Chantry building, but still the Herald had remained silent. For the entire, three-hour-long meeting, she’d only stared down at the large table bearing the giant maps of the kingdoms of Ferelden and Orlais. The three advisors began placing their markers on the maps indicating covert, diplomatic or military missions, but all missions revolved around acquiring the help they would need to close the Breach.

The mage Solas indicated he believed the mark on the Herald’s hand might be able to close the tear in the sky if it had more power - which meant more mages. The Commander thought they needed less power and had suggested the templar Order might be able to use their magic dampening powers to weaken the Breach enough to close it as well. Cassandra wasn’t quite sure what to think but leaned toward the templars if only because of her natural distrust of mages as a Seeker of Truth. Her job might have been rooting out abuses among the templars, but in the end, her powers and understanding of magic was rooted in _silencing_ that magic.

They’d argued and bickered for at least a half an hour. And still the Herald had remained silent. For the first time, it occurred to Cassandra that perhaps being surrounded by an ex-Seeker and ex-templar might be disconcerting for their mage Herald. She made note to ask the other advisors their thoughts on the matter.

In the meantime, however, the Herald also needed to close the smaller rifts all over Thedas. If the events of two weeks ago were any indication, she would need to personally close these rifts with her mark. The meeting had ended around noon with a decision to leave for the Hinterlands the day after tomorrow to close rifts and help end the mage and templar battles going on there. That was the last time Cassandra had seen her.

With no sign of the Herald, she huffed and turned the other direction, retracing her steps past the smith’s. She walked toward the Commander who was directing the recruits in the final exercises of the day. She might as well take Varric’s advice. No harm in it.

When the Commander saw Cassandra approach and beckon him, he called over his second in command, Captain Rylen, to continue the exercises.

“What can I do for you, Cassandra?” he inquired as he walked toward her.

“Good afternoon, Commander. I am looking for the Herald, and Varric suggested I ask you in case I missed her heading out of Haven while up at the Chantry.”

The Commander raised an eyebrow and smiled faintly. “And what do you need our Herald for right now?”

Cassandra was a bit taken aback by his reticence and made no effort to hide it. “What does it matter? I need to speak with her about preparations for the journey. There is much to be done. We need to get started.”

“You’ve got all day tomorrow for that. Perhaps you can’t find her because she doesn’t want to be found, yet. Give her a moment of peace.”

“Peace?” Cassandra echoed incredulously. “Now is not the time for peace! We are at war, and she is the only thing standing between us and being overrun by demons from the Fade. She is the only one able to close the rifts scattered across Thedas - the only one who might be able to close the Breach that is ripping our sky apart. If she is not ready for this…”

“Then what?” The Commander kicked at an imaginary rock in the snow and began to pace, his typical mask of emotionlessness slipping. “We send her back to her quiet Dalish clan in the middle of nowhere and try to find someone else with the power to close rifts in the Veil?”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes at the Commander in shock and surprise. They had only truly known each other for a few months, but this sudden change in his demeanor alarmed her. Remembering their agreement from when she had brought him into the Inquisition, she cautiously looked him up and down. He did not seem to be suffering from any ill effects of his decision, but she made a note to check up on him more regularly. She had faith he could accomplish his goals, but she knew he might need assistance along the way - assistance she would willingly provide.

“No,” she replied in a more even tone, “I would not suggest such a thing. I merely wish to ensure she is prepared for the coming mission. Much rests on her shoulders.”

The Commander sighed deeply as he stopped pacing. “That’s exactly what I mean. Seeker- Cassandra, she is not like you. She is from a small clan of elves. It would be a lot for anyone to process what has happened, but for her, it must be doubly so to be in such strange surroundings, dealing with strange people whose habits and customs differ from hers so greatly. It’s only been two weeks since the events at the Temple of Sacred Ashes and part of that time she spent unconscious. Give her some time to adjust. We _cannot afford_ to lose her.” He turned his head to look out over the frozen landscape. After a pause, he looked toward Cassandra again and continued in a quieter voice. “All things considered, I think she’s doing rather well.”

Cassandra again struggled to contain her mild surprise at the Commander’s defense of their Herald. When had he acquired such insight into the elf’s thoughts? The feeling that she needed to watch him more closely intensified.

She had to admit, though, his reasoning was sound. She sucked in a deep breath and nodded.

“I suppose you might be right.” Shifting from one foot to the other, they were silent for a moment before she continued, “but you _do_ know where she is, then?”

The Commander just flashed a brief smile at her and returned to his position. Cassandra let out a small grunt of dissatisfaction before turning on her heel toward the Chantry. If the Herald needed time alone, so be it, but Cassandra would not be idle. When the elf decided to reappear, the Seeker would be ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, I think we're almost done with most of the exposition now! A bit more coming in the next chapter with Cullen's POV, but not nearly as much!
> 
> As a side note - this is being written for a friend who doesn't know anything about Dragon Age, so forgive some of the "well, duh" descriptions of past events. She would be totally lost if I didn't explain some of the DA lore!
> 
> As always comments, kudos, ConCrit welcome!


	3. In which denial is his only recourse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mage and an ex-templar walk into a bar...

Cullen ended the exercises shortly after the Seeker returned to the Chantry. He didn’t blame Cassandra for her zeal in preparing for the journey ahead. He also constantly tried to think ahead, to anticipate the needs of the Inquisition and provide for them before the others even recognized the need, which was why he now turned toward his tent now to write up an order for reinforcements to join Leliana’s scouts in the Hinterlands despite the fact that he’d rather be out clearing his head with a brisk, solitary walk.

The late afternoon sun illuminated the canvas walls with an orange glow. He lifted the flap and sighed in relief at finding it empty. He eyed the smooth sheets of parchment waiting for the press of his quill, but his distracted mind turned instead to his conversation with Cassandra. Restless, he began pacing in front of his desk.

Had he read too much into the Herald’s behavior? Maker knows he’d never been the best judge of people’s mental states. It had him doubting his interpretations. And, ultimately, he had to question why hadn’t he just pointed to the forest and sent Cassandra off to find the Herald.

Perhaps it was because he’d noticed the Herald seemed to think in the same way he did, just at a less urgent pace. Her words often mirrored his own thoughts.

Perhaps because every day, despite her impassive countenance, he saw many of his own doubts and struggles reflected in her eyes across the war table. During meetings, he would hear her soft, soothing voice asking the same questions he’d asked the scouts when preparing his reports only hours before.

Perhaps most of all because, like him, she seemed to need solitude to process the day’s events. She needed to “decompress” as she’d called it, which, he concluded, was why he had now met with her three times out in the forests around Haven. The first time, she’d been in a tree, and he’d been painfully awkward as usual. That conversation, as well as being his first conversation with her outside of the war room, had been his first indication that perhaps she wasn’t quite as untouchable and emotionless as she appeared to be when discussing Inquisition business. He knew little about the Dalish, but his encounter with her that night had opened his eyes, if only briefly, to a woman who clearly struggled with the strange turn her life had taken.

After that, he’d observed her more closely in an attempt to catch more moments of struggle underneath her withdrawn exterior. As he observed, he began to see those moments more clearly. The flick of her small, pointed ear to indicate irritation or anxiety. The slight droop of her shoulders when she felt overwhelmed. The arms crossed in front of her in defensiveness. The slight change in her tone when she didn’t understand something. It was only natural, of course. Regardless of whether the mark had come from their holy prophet Andraste herself or had been born out of complete chance, the suddenness of it all would be disorienting to anyone. In a split second, her world had completely changed. He couldn’t imagine.

Well… perhaps he could. Dark images rose up in his mind. He shuddered and directed his thoughts back to the Herald.

The second time, he’d seen her from a distance across Haven’s frozen lake, but she hadn’t seen him - or perhaps she had pretended not to. He noticed that she always seemed to put as much distance between them as possible, even at the war table. And being a mage, he couldn’t blame her for her distrust. He still struggled with the idea of trusting her fully as well. His training told him she was dangerous and should be watched, but his instincts whispered of her trustworthiness. Why else would she still be here after they'd told her she was free to go? And Cassandra had told him of the memories in the temple, that she’d attempted to help the Divine.

More worrisome, however, was the strange, new part of him that desperately _wanted_ to trust her - whether it proved to be a good idea or not.

Taking all this into consideration, his third meeting with her yesterday had him perplexed. It had been well after sundown when he’d nearly run into her on the path back to Haven. Only her agility had saved her. After profuse apologies, which she waved off, she turned and proceeded to walk back to Haven with him. The few pleasantries he attempted she quickly muted with one-word answers, and they’d walked in complete silence for nearly ten minutes.

At first, he’d felt awkward walking next to her without speaking, but after a while, he began to enjoy the sound of her boots crunching the snow next to his, the way the bright moonlight made their shadows into parallel lines on the path in front of them, how her breath came out in soft puffs and his in large clouds as they waded through a pristine batch of snow. Just before reaching Haven, she suddenly bid him farewell and disappeared into the trees, finally appearing again as a shadow against the walls of Haven as he approached his tent.

 _So, why did she walk with me at all?_ Did she feel unsafe in the forest after dark? Or had she been too tired to give an excuse as to why she _couldn’t_ walk with him after nearly running into him?

And why was the answer seemingly so Maker-damned important to him? It shouldn’t be. Whatever the reason, she _had_ walked with him, and there was an end to it.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. A niggling headache floated in the back of his brain. If he focused on a task, he could pretend to forget about it, but during these quiet musings, it pushed to the forefront and muddled his thoughts. He thought back to what the council had decided at the war table earlier today, and the buzzing receded as his brain quickly picked up on the new topic.

Much to his chagrin, the council had decided to give in to Mother Giselle’s demands and send the Herald in person to recruit the Mother to their cause. He’d kept his feelings on sending the Herald on dangerous missions to himself, mostly because he’d be overruled by the others if he spoke out. In truth, he even overruled himself if he thought about it long enough. Their Herald needed opportunities to prove her worth through her actions. He knew it. But she was their only hope right now, and it made little sense that they would deliberately put her in harm’s way just to secure a Chantry Mother’s approval.

However, perhaps this _would_ be a good place to start - a good place for her to ease into her Heraldry. She wasn’t fond of the title - she’d made sure they all knew it - but there was no helping it now. The people had bestowed her with the epithet, and who were they to argue with the people? They needed hope. Her mark gave them that hope even as demons continue to pour into their world from the rifts all over Thedas. Besides, Cassandra, Varric and the apostate Solas would likely be with her.

He sighed as he finally gave up and sat down to his work. His thoughts were running circles around him, getting him nowhere, so he focused on clearing his desk of the many papers from Josephine and Leliana that required his approval or signature. He worked steadily as his tent grew dim, stopping only to light a candle. Gradually, the stack of “to be completed” grew into another stack of “completed.” He grabbed the completed stack and headed out to distribute his work. The sun had set nearly an hour ago, but he still had much to do. Trudging up the first set of stairs, he resigned himself to a night of paperwork even as his stomach growled in protest.

“Evenin’ Curly!”

Cullen waved absently at Varric’s salutation. Varric was an old thorn in his side from their time in Kirkwall during the beginnings of the mage and templar conflict. But at the last, they’d ended up fighting on the same side. Cullen knew the dwarf would come through in a pinch, so he remained pleasant even if Varric did sometimes get on his last nerve.

He continued on, enjoying the short walk and stretching his legs as much as he could. He stopped at Leliana’s tent, just across from the Chantry building’s entrance.

“Reports for you, Leliana. If you could send out these ones for Scout Harding tonight, I’d be grateful.”

Leliana didn’t look up but jerked her head to the pile on her right, her thick Orlesian accent giving no hint of the stress her words implied. “Just put them right there. I’ll send them out as soon as I can. With all the preparations for the mission to the Hinterlands, I’ve got my hands full.”

Cullen nodded, realizing belatedly that she wouldn’t see it. “Ah, yes. Well, this top one,” he said, pointing to the sketched map outlining possible hot spots for mage and templar action as well as possible secure camp locations, “is really the most important. If the others don’t go out until tomorrow, so be it.”

“Very well.”

She nodded but kept writing. He was about to turn away, but she continued in a lighter tone, “You missed your evening walk with the Herald, I see.”

Cullen furrowed his brow, and his hand involuntarily lifted to rub the back of his neck even as he decided to feign ignorance. “What do you mean?”

“Just that the Herald has already returned from her walk, so you won’t have any repeats of last night.”

Of course, _now_ the spymaster looked up, eyes sparkling, just in time to see the red rising up his throat to burn hotly on his cheeks. He smoothed the hair on the back of his neck again. The Inquisition’s spymaster was entirely too good at her job. It didn’t help that she knew him from long ago - from a time in his life he wished he could forget. They had both agreed to not speak of that, though.

“Nothing happened. We merely ran into each other and walked back on the same path. We barely even spoke.”

“Oh, I know. I just thought _you_ should know that we always keep an eye on the Herald when she leaves Haven’s walls. It’s just to ensure her safety - but, well, you know.”

He did. It meant that Leliana’s agents watched everything the Herald said and did.

“What about me?” He smiled wryly and gave a small laugh to make sure she understood the joke. “No one watches me.”  
  
Leliana’s eyes continued to sparkle mischievously. “You’re sure about that, are you?”

He shook his head and waved her off. No need to encourage her.

“I’m in no need of protection, and neither is the Herald from what I understand. Cassandra has vouched for her magical abilities. Apparently, she held her own quite well during the battle to stabilize the Breach. So unless you think she’s in danger of running away from the Inquisition, I’m not sure there’s a good reason to shadow her every move.”

As he spoke, Leliana’s smile gradually faded. She gave him a hard, discerning look before speaking again.

“Are you - of all people, _you_ \- saying you disagree with keeping an eye on arguably the most important person in Thedas right now? And that you have no objections to an _apostate mage_ running around our camp unattended? I must admit, I am surprised.”

Cullen frowned. What _was_ he trying to say? Hadn’t he just been thinking the opposite - that she should be protected at all costs? He still thought of her as a mage, but when had he stopped thinking of her as an apostate? As a templar, he used to _hunt and capture_ apostate mages. In the last two weeks, however, he’d somehow set her apart from that in his head. He stood silent for a moment, befuddled by his own contradictory thoughts, before attempting to explain.

“She… has done much for us so far and has promised to stay - to help for however much longer we need her. I’m not saying we should stop watching her. You are right that she needs be protected. It simply feels… wrong somehow for her to be unaware of it. If we are going to watch her constantly, shouldn’t she know it? Wouldn’t you wish to know? We owe her that, at least.”

She smiled faintly. “I’m fairly certain she already _knows_ , Commander, though we’ve never explicitly told her anything.”

She paused, giving him another hard look before picking up her pen and bending over her report once more. “I’ll make certain, though, if it will make you feel better.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, and Commander?”

Already walking away yet again, Cullen paused outside her tent. He half turned toward her as she glanced briefly up at him.

“Yes?” he asked, mentally bracing himself in case she planned to tease him again.

“Can you inform Josephine of our conversation? Our resident diplomat will want to be prepared in case the Herald takes the news poorly. But, as I said, I am fairly certain she already knows.”

“Doesn’t hurt to make sure.”

“Of course, Commander.”

Cullen continued on to the Chantry to drop his papers with Josephine. A serious look crossed the Antivan woman’s face as he relayed the conversation, her dark eyes flashing as she mentally worked through the implications. She sat back and steepled her fingers. Cullen typically couldn’t read her expressions except when overt - usually some variation of extreme displeasure directed at _him_ across the war table. This one was as inscrutable to him as the rest, but while he waited, his stomach growled again. Unmistakable amusement flashed across Josephine’s face, and Cullen schooled his features to cover his embarrassment. Finally, she spoke.

“This has been going on from the beginning?”

Cullen shrugged. “I assume so, though I didn’t specifically ask. The point is we never explicitly told her she would be followed.”

“Yes. I can see how that would be problematic. Tell Leliana not to speak with the Herald quite yet. I’d like a chance to think this through. We’ll address it in the morning. Now go get yourself something to eat, Commander.”

He turned away before she could see the red in his face. In the last couple of months, the two women had become adept at getting a rise out of him, and he hated himself a little bit for always giving them the satisfaction of seeing him completely embarrassed. He knew that as they became better acquainted, it would become harder for them to pick at him. But right now, he didn’t know them well enough to anticipate their teasing, and so he blushed like a new recruit.

After passing Josephine’s message back to Leliana, Cullen took Josephine’s advice and headed around the corner to The Singing Maiden to quell his rebellious stomach. The warmth of the hall along with the bard’s lilting song greeted him as he entered and pushed his way through the smoke and crowds of people to the counter.

“Anything left to eat, Flissa?”

The owner and barmaid gave him a head tilt. “Oh, I just took a hearty druffalo stew off the fire 20 minutes ago. I’m sure it’s still good, but it’s cooled down now. If you have time to wait, I can heat up again.”

Cullen nodded and pulled up a stool at the bar to wait. New recruits as well as town-folk filled the well-worn tables and chairs, laughing and drinking together in spite of all that had happened - or perhaps because of it. He heard rather than saw Varric in the corner by the fire, the best-selling author and consummate storyteller’s undulating tone and rhythm apparent even with all the noise, though Cullen couldn’t tell which story over the din. Hopefully none that involved himself. Varric had a tendency to exaggerate Cullen’s role in the Kirkwall Rebellions and the Champion of Kirkwall’s fight against the templar Knight-Commander, Meredith. 

Meredith. His former Knight-Commander. The one he helped the Champion kill after she went mad from red lyrium. The throbbing in his head pushed its way to his consciousness, and he nearly missed the soft voice next to him.

“Good evening, Flissa. I’m afraid I missed dinner. Is there anything left?”

“Ah, Herald! I was already heating up a little bit of stew for the Commander here, so it’s no trouble. It’ll be a few minutes, though.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

The Herald turned and gave him a small, tight smile and a nod, though her expression remained neutral. She pulled her arms around herself tightly, as if she were deliberately making herself as compact as possible in the crowded space. She briefly eyed the one remaining stool next to him but ultimately remained standing.

_Now is as good a time as any to engender some goodwill._

He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile in return. Then he stood up, pulled two mugs from behind the counter and filled them with water from the jar Flissa left on the counter. When he pushed a mug toward her, she finally sat gingerly on the edge of the stool next to him, wrapping her hands around the mug.

“Good evening, Herald. I hope you had a relaxing walk this evening?”

Her tight smile relaxed a tiny bit as she raised a hand to her rosy, wind-burned cheeks and glanced over at him. “I did. Thank you, Commander. And I hope your new recruits are doing well? You seem to have more and more of them every time I walk by.”

He nodded. “We’ve received a number of recruits from Haven and some pilgrims.” He paused and cocked an eyebrow at her. “None have made _quite_ the entrance you did, though.” 

Her cheeks and ears tinged an even brighter pink as she looked away, but the small, pleased smile curving her lips upward told him he hadn’t spoken out of turn. She cleared her throat softly.

“I just hope I can help.”

“As do we all... It is enough that you would try.” Cullen paused, unsure whether or not to continue. She turned again to look at him, her blue-violet eyes meeting his gaze steadily, still wary but now mixed with a tentative curiosity. His heart missed a beat, and suddenly, awkwardly, words came tumbling from his mouth. “I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself. Your clan is also from the Free Marches, I think?” She just nodded, so he continued. “I was Knight-Captain there during the mage uprising and saw firsthand the devastation it caused. Cassandra sought a resolution. When she offered me a position, I left the templars to join the cause. Now it seems we face something far worse.”

A soft sigh escaped her lips, and her eyes unfocused for a moment before focusing on him again. “The Conclave destroyed, a giant hole in the sky - things aren't looking good.” 

“Which is why we're needed,” Cullen affirmed. “The Chantry lost control of both the templars and the mages. Now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. The Inquisition could act when the Chantry could not. Our followers would be part of that! There’s so much we could-” Cullen stopped, shook his head and exhaled sharply. He gave her a wry smile as she cocked her head inquisitively. “Forgive me, you came here for dinner, not a lecture.”

Her face relaxed further, the smile more natural now. "Maybe so,” she responded, “but if you have one prepared, I’d love to hear it.”

Her tone, an endearing mixture of tentative, warm and teasing, caught him completely off guard. He could only stare at her, eyebrows raised in surprise. This was a side of the Herald he’d not seen before, though he supposed he’d started it by teasing her earlier. Her eyes faltered, and she blushed slightly when he didn’t respond immediately. He chuckled awkwardly, belatedly, and her eyes flicked upward again to meet his. His own face flushed hot with embarrassment, but he gave her a small smile anyway. 

“Another time perhaps.”

A genuine grin spread across her face - it reminded him faintly of the feeling he got watching the sun rise after a particularly horrific nightmare. He'd seen her small, strained smile before, of course, but this uninhibited expression was entirely new.

“I... uh-" He cleared his throat, trying to restart his brain. _Focus!_ He registered that he was staring, so he pulled his eyes away and stared into his cup instead. "There’s still a lot of work ahead.”

After a moment, he risked a glance in her direction. The grin had faded into a soft smile, and to his surprise he saw her shyly glance at him as well, turning away again when their eyes briefly met. His heart skipped another beat.

 _No! No, no, no._ He knew this feeling. Panic flooded through him, and he mentally berated himself. He would _not_ allow an inappropriate attraction to their Herald derail their mission and his purpose. The safety of the whole world could depend on it.

He tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head pointing out that the Inquisition was full of beautiful, capable women, none of whom made his heart skip a beat with just a look as she had. They made him nervous, of course. All women did. But this was different - somehow, _she_ was different.

 _That isn't the point!_ She was speaking again. He tried to focus.

“I - uh - was wondering… you’ve said you are no longer with the templar Order, but there must have been a reason you joined in the first place?”

He laughed a little and looked away from her to focus on the wall, thanking the Maker for the distraction. “I could think of no better calling than to protect those in need. I used to beg the templars at our local Chantry to teach me. At first, they merely humored me, but I must’ve shown promise. Or at least a willingness to learn. The Knight-Captain spoke to my parents on my behalf. They agreed to send me for training. I was thirteen when I left home.”

He couldn’t help the note of wistfulness that crept into his voice. He had been so young then. So innocent. As in the war room, she seemed to track with his thoughts.

“Thirteen? That’s still so young.”

He looked over at her and nodded. “I wasn’t the youngest there. Some children are promised to the order at infancy. Still, I didn’t take on full orders until I was eighteen. The Order sees you trained and educated first.”

“You must have missed your family.”

Her voice wavered a little as she spoke, but she said nothing further. He guessed she was thinking of her own family - her clan.

“Of course, but there were many my age who felt the same. We learned to look out for one another.”

“So they became your family.”

“Yes, in many ways. I feel that any time you bring a group of people together, you end up taking on those familial roles to an extent. Cassandra feels very much like a sister to me. Varric like an annoying brother you grudgingly admire at the same time. And Leliana, Josephine and I are becoming better acquainted as well. We’ve got a lot of work ahead. Being surrounded by people you trust makes it easier to bear.”

She didn’t respond, and he took the opportunity to study her profile as she took a turn staring into her mug. His breath caught in his throat as she threaded her fingers through her hair and played with the short, silvery tendrils curving around her slender neck. Most women as breathtakingly beautiful as she were fully aware of their power and never missed an opportunity to use it. Yet she now sat slumped at the bar, almost curled in on herself, with half the men and more than a few women in the room sneaking glances at her, and not just because she was their Herald of Andraste. She seemed completely oblivious. Did she not know? How could she not?

Her voice, quiet but even-toned, cut through his highly inappropriate thoughts.

"I appreciate all that you, Josephine, Cassandra and Leliana are doing for me, helping me understand how things work, walking me through tactical and diplomatic situations.” She looked up from her mug and gave him a rueful smile. “I know I'm not the ideal - I mean - this is a huge adjustment for me, and you all have been so patient. It means a lot."

"You don't give yourself enough credit, Herald. This would be much more difficult if you weren't such a quick study. I don't recall any of us ever needing to tell you something twice. You are a much better fit for this task than you realize."

She let out a small, breathy snort of laughter. "Must be all that training under Keeper Deshanna. She certainly knows how to pack a lot into a lesson."

Despite his internal struggle, Cullen grasped at this opening to ask her more about herself. "You are the - what is it? The First in your clan?" She nodded, so he continued. "What does the First do - besides training in magic, I mean?"

The look of surprise on her face confused him, but she quickly recovered. "Well, the First is mostly what it sounds like - we are first in line to succeed as clan leader. We call them Keepers. Keepers are always mages, so a few years after my magic appeared, Keeper Deshanna took me as her apprentice and gradually taught me all she knew of the lore and magic of our people. I am tasked with protecting Elvhen history... What we know of it anyway. Much has been lost to us, and our limited interaction with other races and even other clans has made it that much harder to keep a firm grasp on our lore. I fear that much of what we hold as truth is merely _our_ truth, not really _the_ truth."

Cullen couldn't keep the incredulity out of his voice. "Are you saying... Do you mean you don't believe in the truth of the lore you have been tasked to keep?" She became visibly uncomfortable, and he regretted his comment immediately. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I didn’t mean-”

“Oh, no! I’m not offended, Commander.”

As if to prove it, she offered him a half-hearted smile before her expression turned thoughtful. He noticed her entire demeanor toward him had changed when he’d asked her about herself, about her clan. She seemed more relaxed, more open. He leaned closer to hear her over the increasing din of the tavern - at least, that’s what he told himself.

“It’s just that… I’ve asked myself the same question many times, and I still don’t have an answer. But isn’t that how it is with most things? Truth is lost to history and time, but we hold on to what we can and interpret it in a way that makes us feel we have meaning... purpose in life. We cling to our faith despite no evidence to support our beliefs. I’m not saying that the Elvhen Creators don’t exist, but I also can’t prove that they do - much the same as I can neither prove nor disprove the existence of your Maker and his prophet, Andraste. Did Andraste send me through the Fade and give me this mark? Did the Creators? I don’t know, but there are moments-”

She was interrupted by two giant, steaming bowls of stew shoved haphazardly toward them. Patrons at the other end of the bar were already calling to Flissa, so the bartender just smiled an apology and hustled over to take care of her other customers. The sight and smell of food made Cullen’s stomach growl again, but it was too loud in the tavern for anyone to hear it. He looked at the bowl and then to the Herald. She had already stood from the stool, bowl in one hand, and made a small gesture of invitation toward the door. He quickly - gratefully - stood and followed her lead. Once they were outside, she spoke again.

“I’m sorry. It was just getting a bit too loud and crowded in there for my taste. I tend to prefer a small groups or even solitude over places like that.”

“I know _exactly_ what you mean.”

He smiled at her. She smiled back. It was likely his imagination, but he felt as if an unspoken understanding now existed between them that made the silence gathering around them easy and comfortable instead of awkward. It drew him to her even more, and the small spark of panic flared in his gut again.

 _Leave her and get back to work_. This was a distraction. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he told her there was still much to be done. The supply lines had been secured, but keeping the trade routes safe required constant vigilance. Then there were the new recruits. More came every day, and he had to stay on top of their training. However dedicated they were to the cause, his soldiers were no good to the Inquisition if they got themselves killed - if _he_ got them killed. And reports of demons and potential darkspawn were coming in everyday…

He should get back to work. He really should.

They walked slowly, but soon enough, they approached the door to her cabin, which stood just inside Haven’s gates. She seemed to hesitate, her hands wrapped around the bowl of steaming stew. The night air settled around them in an icy cocoon, and she shifted her weight from her toes to her heels, rocking back and forth slightly. Her pale face shone in the moonlight, and he was entranced by the dark lines that swirled over her face, particularly the one that bisected her bottom lip and spread into dark branches over her pale neck.

“It was… good talking with you, Commander. I … it’s nice to speak of home, if only for a little while. I know there are more important things to think and talk about, but speaking of them somehow makes the rest easier to bear. It reminds me why I’m doing all of this.”

He should go. He should- “You didn’t finish your thought there in the tavern. I mean… what I mean is… I’d be happy to listen-”

“Oh!” She shook her head. “I’m sure I’ve taken up far too much of your precious time as it is. But, as you said earlier about your lecture…” she gave him soft smile “...another time perhaps?”

She turned and opened the door but paused before closing it to look back at him. Her warm, teasing tone reappeared, this time more confident.

“I’ll expect a good one.”

He bowed and looked up to smile at her. “I live to serve.”

He was rewarded with a genuine laugh that warmed him from head to toe.

“Goodnight, Commander.”

“Goodnight, Herald.”

He waited until the door closed and then walked slowly back to his tent, absently eating his stew as he walked. He finished the bowl before he even lifted the flap to his tent. Leaving it on the corner of his desk, he admonished himself for the hundredth time and sat down to write up a new training schedule for Lieutenant Rozellene.

It was nothing. This was nothing.

Two minutes later, he threw the quill down in exasperation and pinched the bridge of his nose. Every time he tried to concentrate, visions of her eyes, her lips - _Maker, those lips_ \- and the endearing smattering of light freckles across the bridge of her pale nose crowded in to distract him.

_This is positively dangerous._

How in the Maker’s name could he be so thoroughly infatuated with her after only _two weeks_? Two weeks of hours-long meetings every day, staring at maps and explaining strategies and discussing possible solutions... with her…

He could hardly admit to himself, let alone anyone else, that he’d had trouble keeping his eyes off her from the very beginning. That he’d gotten lost in her eyes at least once at every meeting and watched her from the corner of his eye every time she passed by on her way to Harritt's or out for a walk. But this evening they’d had real conversation. She had so far been well-spoken and appropriately curious in the war room, but the depth of thought he’d witnessed as she spoke of her people and her gods made him curious to know more about her. And she’d asked him thoughtful questions about himself as if she were truly interested in him and what had brought him to the Inquisition. If they could somehow bridge the mage and templar gap, he suspected he’d find a deeply analytical mind underneath all that distance and suspicion. Tonight felt like a breakthrough in that regard, and it excited him for more reasons than it should.

Although he’d never thought of elves as exotic, it nearly undid him tonight to sit so near her, to see the fine details of her strangely dark lashes framing ethereal eyes devoid of the typical fear and hesitancy he’d come to expect when she looked at him, to listen to her soothing voice as she revealed her thoughts to him, to see the way her tattoos followed the smooth curve of her cheek... a cheek that would be so easy to reach out and touch… full, shining lips he wanted to...

“Maker, preserve me!” he hissed as he sat up in his chair, his armor clanking softly with the sudden movement.

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. His voice sounded desperate to his own ears. _Wonderful_.

He growled under his breath as he stared at the piles of paper strewn across his desk. He _could not_ afford this. The Inquisition had to be his first - his only - priority, and this… infatuation meant _nothing_. It would fade just as all the others had. He simply had to wait it out.

Digging in with all the mental fortitude he could muster, he picked up the quill and started again, willing himself to concentrate on the papers in front of him. It mostly worked, and Cullen finally blew out his candle several hours - and several piles of completed orders - later. He peeled off his armor and laid down on the makeshift bed behind his desk, pulling the hides and wool blankets firmly around him.

 _Now_ , _I just have to keep my mind from wandering…_

He fell asleep with the soft sound of the her laughter lilting through his brain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're off! Although you'll still see exposition here and there (for friend-who-is-not-a-Dragon-Age-fan purposes), the story picks up from here. Evana's POV is back in the next chapter. Thanks for reading!


	4. In which years of bottled emotions plus unimaginable stress equals unavoidable outbursts

She couldn’t help feeling betrayed. The tiny rope of trust she’d tied to the Commander - to the _templar_ \- just last night seemed to be fraying already. She looked at him from across the war table, tried to remain calm and, for the first time in years, failed miserably.

“Did you know about this?”

The Commander’s honey gold eyes seemed to plead with her, but for what, she didn’t know. He shook his head as Leliana cut in abruptly.

“I told the Commander last night, and he suggested we make sure you knew you were being guarded outside Haven's walls.” Leliana paused a moment before adding in a slightly softer tone. “I apologize if this comes as a surprise. I should have made sure you were aware instead of making assumptions.”

“You are very important to the Inquisition and indeed to all of Thedas,” Josephine added gently. “It is merely a precaution, but a necessary one, I'm afraid.”

Evana exhaled, relief washing over her in a way she couldn’t begin to comprehend. What was _wrong_ with her? She had expected this from the beginning - and in all honesty, she would have done the same if the situations were reversed.

_Then why does this bother me so much? Get over it!_

She was being watched. She would continue to be watched. Somehow, knowing that not only had the Commander _not_ placed the detail on her but that he hadn’t even known about it made her feel as if everything would be alright. She couldn’t - wouldn’t - think about that.

Now came the embarrassment for her unprofessional outburst in the form of flaming heat suffusing her face. “I suppose I can understand why you think it necessary. Thank you for telling me.”

She could see the tension ease on all their faces as she spoke. After a long pause in which no one looked up from the table, she finally blurted, “So, what’s next?”

“We have nothing more at this time, Herald,” the Commander said in a quiet, professional tone. “I’m sure you have preparations to attend to for tomorrow’s journey, as do we.”

She couldn’t even look at him. She darted out the door and almost ran through the Chantry hall. Once outside, Evana headed toward Adan the potion master’s shop, but she couldn’t bring herself to go inside. Her cheeks still burned from embarrassment over her uncharacteristic overreaction. The wind felt especially cold on her face, and she reached up tentatively, astonished to discover tears streaming down her heated cheeks.

It had been five years since she last cried.

_Fenedhis! What’s wrong with me? This is completely ridiculous._

Determined to regain some semblance of composure, she wiped the tears away and turned the corner to the side of Adan’s shop. Resting her back against the cold wood, she tried to make sense of her reactions. Instead, the disappointment on the Commander’s face danced through her mind’s eye. She knew she had ruined any chance of a friendly camaraderie with the Commander.

It served her right for avoiding him until recently. But in the past two weeks, she’d come to understand that he truly wasn’t like other templars. And Varric had assured her he’d permanently left the order. The passion in his voice every day as they stood around the war table betrayed his overwhelming desire to do the _right thing_. Theoretically, if templars and mages could be more like partners in their work - helping each other instead of one making the other into a prisoner with no say in their life or their work…

But no, Keeper Deshanna had told her too many horror stories about the dangers of the Circles for her to have anything but contempt for them in practice. And she’d experienced first-hand the wanton destruction the less savory templars left in their wake. Unbidden, the image of blood spilling from Clan Lavellan’s former First arose in her mind, and she covered her mouth with her hand to muffle the gasp. Her body trembled as she once more grappled for control over reactions and emotions she hadn’t experienced in years. She took a deep breath and firmly cleared the images from her mind. She had so much more to worry about now… the fate of Thedas resting in her novice hands. And she had yet to prove herself in any significant way.

At least now she could see why people like the Commander and Cassandra pushed for the approaching the templars instead of the mages, even if she didn't agree. In _theory_ , allying themselves with the Order to close the Breach might even be a good thing - dampening the magic of the Breach instead of enhancing her own magic as would be necessary with the mages.

 _It doesn’t matter,_ she told herself firmly. _I’m going home as soon as this is over._ She would melt into the forests of the Free Marches with her clan and never return, never interact with humans again if she could help it. The suffocating tightness spread through her chest, and it took more effort than the last time to ignore it completely. She put a hand on her chest as if to physically push the feeling down and away from her. She could not afford to become attached to this life or the people around her, no matter how righteous their cause.

She’d long ago learned to keep her heart and feelings guarded from others. Emotions were a liability that only led to death and disappointment. She needed to remember that, especially now that her emotions were intent on betraying her.

She took another deep breath, stood away from the wall and immediately noticed Solas watching her closely from nearby. She squared her shoulders and met his unwavering gaze with one of her own as she walked toward him.

“The Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all.”

His tone took on a hint of derision and put her on the defensive. She stopped in front of him and crossed her arms, jutting her hip to the side.

“I’ve no interest in being a hero. All I want is to find a way to seal this Breach.” _And then go home._

“Pragmatic. But ultimately irrelevant. I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to re-enact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten. Every great war has it heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

She recoiled mentally at the idea of herself as a war hero, but she couldn’t help her curiosity about the first part of his soliloquy. “What do you mean, ruins and battlefields?”

“Any building strong enough to withstand the rigors of time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between this world and the Fade - the world of spirits. When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.”

“You sleep in the middle of ancient ruins? Isn’t that dangerous?”

She really tried, but she couldn’t keep the awe out of her voice. A small smile formed on his lips.

“I _do_ set wards. And if you leave food out for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live.”

She shuddered involuntarily, and tried not to focus too much on his mention of giant spiders. “I’ve never heard of anyone going so far into the Fade. That’s extraordinary.”

“Thank you. It’s not a common field of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning. The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand-year-old dream? I would not trade it for anything."

She thrilled at the idea herself but carefully to kept her face neutral. He paused to look at her, as if considering something and turned his head away as he spoke again.

"I will stay then. At least until the Breach has been closed.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Was that in doubt?”

He turned back to her. “I am an apostate surrounded by Chantry forces in the middle of a mage rebellion. Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

 _All too well._ “You came here to help, Solas. I won’t let them use that against you.”

“How would you stop them? You are also technically considered an apostate, even though the Chantry mostly ignores the Dalish.”

“However I had to.”

She spoke with a bit more force and conviction than she felt, and suddenly, the look on his face made her wish she hadn’t been so forthright. Solas smiled and tilted his head as a show of appreciation.

“Thank you. For now, let us hope that either the mages or templars have the power to seal the Breach.”

Despite the awkward moment, his talk of the Fade piqued her curiosity, and she couldn’t help herself. She had never before had the opportunity to learn about it from such an apparent expert.

“What do you know about the Fade? About the Breach in particular?”

“Simply put, it is a tear in the Veil between this world and the Fade. Any rift in the Veil allows spirits to enter the world physically. Small tears occur naturally when magic weakens the Veil or when spirits cluster in an area that has seen many deaths. But your mark allows you to exert some control over the Breach. That means it was created deliberately.”

The mark on her hand was invisible - dormant now that no rifts were nearby. She absently turned her left palm over to examine it and remembered vividly the power - and pain - that had coursed through that mark when she closed the rifts at the temple.

It suddenly occurred to her that she’d left her gloves in the war room. She dropped hands to her sides, opening and closing them to ward off the numbness seeping into her fingers. Solas seemed to be a wealth of information on the Fade, but her hands were going to fall off if she didn’t warm them soon.

“Thank you, Solas. I must return to my duties, but… I’d like to ask you more about your experiences in the Fade later. Perhaps on our journey to the Hinterlands, we can talk more?”

“I would be happy to share my knowledge with you, lethallan.”

The use of the familiar elven term made her uncomfortable, but she supposed she had started it by offering to do whatever it took to protect him from the Chantry folks. She smiled at him weakly and hurried off to her quarters. It was only mid morning, but Cassandra had already provided her with a mountain of maps, mission reports and other details to read through.

Evana emerged from her quarters several hours later both well informed about her mission as well as packed and ready to set off at dawn’s light. In addition to recruiting Mother Giselle, she'd been tasked with approaching a certain Horsemaster Dennet about supplying the Inquisition with mounts. Although she was not familiar with riding, she understood the necessity of it. The faster she could travel, the faster she could accomplish all required of her and go home.

A number of days had passed since she last visited Harritt, so she pulled down her woolen cap and headed out the gates. She deliberately avoided looking to her right, toward the military tents. As soon as Harritt saw her, a huge grin spread across his face followed almost immediately by a slight frown.

“Oh, Herald, here you are! Though I’m busy right now with Commander Cullen’s new sword. Trying to get the hilt just right. Would you mind trying it out?”

Clan Lavellan, like most clans, preferred bows and daggers to any other weapons, but a master crafter at the last Arlathven - a meeting of the Dalish clans - had set up a display and explained his craft as he worked on an elven sword. He had let her wield it as he spoke, so she knew how it should feel… at least how an _elven_ blade should feel.

“I’m afraid I’m not as familiar with swords, but I’m happy to do what I can.”

She picked up the blade and looked at it from all sides. As with all things Harritt crafted, it was as beautiful as it was deadly. She swung the blade as she remembered the crafter directing her to do before, trying to remember his words and the feeling that sword had created in her hands as she went through the motions. Despite the weight being almost too much for her, Harritt’s blade sliced effortlessly through the air until… just as it reached the top of the swing, she felt something. She tried again, and felt it again.

“Perhaps shift the balance just a tiny bit? I don’t know. It seems to pull oddly at the top of the swing.”

Harritt’s eyes lit up. “Yes! I thought so, too. Very good, Herald.”  
  
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she handed the blade back to him. Had she just been tested by Haven’s master crafter? If so, his giant grin indicated that she had passed. Perhaps she could test her theory.

“I could craft a grip for the sword to help with the balance… if you'd like.”

Harritt raised his eyebrows and looked back at the weapons modification table. “Looks like the table is free, and the day is wasting. Better get to work.”

She thought her heart might leap out of her chest. _Is this really happening?_ She walked over to the table and found the tools for leathercrafting there on the right. She reverently rolled the awl and and embossing tools between her hands. Suddenly, the immensity of the project hit her, and her heart dropped firmly into place, beginning to pound slightly. She had crafted plenty of grips for bows and daggers before but never a sword grip. And this was a sword for the Commander. Maybe she was in over her head a little bit.

“Harritt?”

“Yes, Herald?”

“You must promise to throw it out immediately if it isn’t any good. I don’t want the Commander to ever be at a disadvantage because of me.”

He snorted, a wide grin on his face. “Too late for that, Herald.”

 _Oh, Creators!_ She turned, giving him a horrified look.

“Promise you won’t use it if it’s not absolutely perfect!” she demanded before entreating, “Please?”

Harritt laughed loudly, his voice carrying over the sound of his hammer. “I promise you, Herald. The sword will be as perfect as I can make it - hopefully with your help.” He paused, then turned away and added in a quieter voice she only heard because of her superior elven hearing, “His disadvantage where you’re concerned has nothing to do with this sword.”

A part of her was curious about his meaning, but a larger part of her knew that she really shouldn’t ask. She was going home soon, though from her new understanding of the mission to the Hinterlands, it would not be as soon as she’d hoped. Sealing the Breach looked like it would take a lot more time than she'd originally bargained for.

The tightness wrapped a steel band around her chest again. She measured the hilt carefully and got to work, pushing the feeling down yet again. The soft, supple leather under her fingertips soothed her mind as she cut and weaved and sewed the strands together in a familiar dance she’d known since childhood. The smells and sounds of the smithy surrounded her, and she lost herself in the simple joy of creating.

Golden shafts of evening sunlight angled across the table before she felt ready to present her work to Harritt. She thought miserably that she’d rather bear the pain of closing rifts again than be standing there, watching the craftsman turning the grip over in his hands, testing the thickness and pulling on the woven strips to make sure they were secure. A wave of nostalgia swept over her as she recalled similar presentations to Vash’an. Finally, Harritt nodded approvingly, and she let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“I’ll sew it on and then finish my alterations. I would wait to present the sword until you could be there, but… well, who knows how long you all will be galavanting around out there in the Hinterlands, and I don’t really have a good excuse for delaying it...”

“Oh, no, Harritt. I wouldn’t ask you to do that. You don’t even need to mention that I helped if you don’t want to.”

“What?! Nonsense.”

Harritt’s eyes widened, genuinely upset, so she tried to backtrack. “Well, I can see how it would be best for him to know that the grip wasn’t crafted by a master-”

“Maker’s breath, Herald, that’s not what I meant! This is a thing of beauty. I wouldn’t dream of taking credit for such a masterpiece. You’ve done well, and the Commander should know who to thank for it.”

Slightly embarrassed but at the same time filled with a kind of happiness she couldn’t describe, Evana looked away to keep the man from seeing tears welling up in her eyes.

 _Seriously. What is_ wrong _with me today?_

“Well, if you think that’s best. Thank you, Harritt.” She brushed her hand as nonchalantly as possible over her eyes and turned back to him. “I won’t have much time, but I hope I can be of assistance to you again after I return.”

The gruff craftsman laid a calloused hand on her shoulder and assured her, “A master like yourself? You’re welcome here anytime, Herald.”

As she headed back to her quarters, it was impossible to avoid looking toward the military tents lining the left side of the path into Haven. However, she didn’t see the Commander anywhere. Perhaps he’d gone out walking again. For a brief moment, she considered going to find him to apologize for her outburst in the war room. Her insecurities got the best of her, however, and she headed back to her quarters. She spent the rest of the evening checking and rechecking, reading and rereading, and then curled herself into the bed in the corner of the room. It still felt odd to sleep in a human bed, but after her first cold night sleeping on the floor, she decided that odd and warm was better than familiar but freezing.

Cassandra woke her early the next morning, and the four companions, along with an army of soldiers and supplies, started off at dawn's light. Cullen, Josephine and Leliana were there to see them off, the latter two offering farewells and last minute advice as they walked out the gates. The Commander, however, remained silent until the last moment when he took her hand, looked briefly her eyes and muttered a hurried, “Farewell, Herald,” before turning to walk away. She looked down to see her gloves, the ones she had left in the war room, there in her hand.

With all the soldiers and supplies, the next few days were painfully slow going. She mostly kept silent as they walked, listening to the soldiers joke and chat or Cassandra and Varric try to have a conversation but inevitably devolve into bickering. She had chuckled under her breath more than once at their antics, overhearing several comments about Kirkwall and a couple of loud interchanges about a knife Cassandra had apparently stuck in a book.

During quiet times, however, Evana took the opportunity to ask Solas more about his experience with the Fade, his knowledge about elves and his experiences with magic. She revelled in his stories of the things he’d seen while traveling there. Learning new things was always exciting for her, but so much of what he spoke about directly related to Elvhen history. She recalled her own lucid dreams of the Fade, but she’d never attempted to interact with memories or spirits while there. She wondered, could he help her learn to travel the Fade in dreams as he did? She was too afraid to ask.

Her ardor for learning caused a few hiccups along the way. The first occurred when Solas complimented her focus while fighting, and she, flattered, jokingly questioned his use of the word “indomitable” to describe her. Much like the day outside Adan’s shop, the mood suddenly shifted as he stated he had yet to see her dominated and imagined the sight would be fascinating. She laughed awkwardly and continued their conversation, but after that, she limited herself to mundane questions and tried to avoid any semblance of teasing.

She refused to acknowledge the voice in her head asking why she hadn't felt that way about her good-natured attempts at teasing the Commander - and his awkward-yet-endearing attempts in return. She shoved the tightness down so quickly this time, she barely registered it had been there at all.

The second hiccup occurred on the final day of traveling. After a somewhat heated conversation, she and Solas quickly learned they shouldn’t speak of blood magic. They must agree to disagree. As he said, magic is magic... but who could truly be trusted with such power? And what of the person whose blood was spilt in acquiring it? Even if the blood magic didn’t require a full sacrifice, the mage using that kind of magic could wreak no end of havoc. No, she was certain they would never agree on that topic.

At times, she noticed Varric listening intently to their conversations. He would gradually move closer to them as Solas waxed poetic about his adventures. As amusing as she found the dwarf, she still often distrusted his motives. He was, after all, a writer. By the end of a week of travel, his behavior convinced her he was taking notes in his head to write down later.

They reached the forward camp late in the afternoon of their fifth day of travel. As the sun set behind them, Scout Harding briefed her on the current situation, and they decided to set out to find Mother Giselle the next morning.

 _Now, for better or worse, we'll all see what I'm made of_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think life will allow updating at least once a week, hopefully twice - three times if I'm feeling even more antisocial than normal. I should have another chapter up in the next couple of days with Varric's POV on this whole mess.


	5. In which a meddling dwarf meddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric gets to know the Herald better and discovers something interesting in the process. Cassandra is blunt and wonderful (as always).

The low murmur of tired voices undulated through the camp that first night in the Hinterlands, but no one seemed to feel like retiring for the night quite yet. The first moon had yet to peek over the horizon, and sharp crystals of light cut through the thick blanket of black that hung over their heads. As he admired the night sky, Varric also took the opportunity to covertly watch the Herald while conversations ebbed and flowed around him.

He’d met all kinds of people in his adventures, from heroes to villains to common folk just caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, but none of them puzzled him the way she did. During the whole journey, she never outright turned her back on them and would answer a question if asked, but with the emotional distance between her and the rest of the party… well, they might as well have been on opposite ends of Thedas. Except for her specific, in-depth conversations with Solas about the Fade and magic, she hardly interacted with them at all.

Now she sat within the fire light, but just enough outside the rest of the group to feel inaccessible. He’d tried most of his normal tricks, but she just laughed awkwardly or looked askance at him with a pained expression on her face when he tried to tease her. His sarcastic nature, a trait that typically won over even the hardest of hearts, would only get him a nod and perhaps a small laugh before she fell into silence again. He had done everything he could think of to no avail. Desperation left him with only one choice, no matter how distasteful.

He scooted a little closer to Cassandra and whispered, “Hey, Seeker.”

Her voice carried through the camp as she responded without looking up from her task. “What is it, Varric? I am trying to polish my shield.”

He saw the Herald look their direction, a smile tugging at her lips. It was worth noting the elf found Cassandra’s reactions to him amusing. Maybe he could use that. But for now…

“Shhhh!” he hissed. “I’m trying to talk with you _quietly_ about our Herald over there. It would probably be best if all of Thedas didn’t hear us.”

Her usual scowl deepened, and a war broke out on her face as she wrestled with whether or not to humor him. Curiosity eventually won out, and she lowered her voice.

“Ugh… Fine.”

Varric considered Cassandra’s noises of disgust to be a thing of beauty. With one simple, guttural sound, she could say so much without saying anything at all. He had once thought of trying to describe all the variations of timbre and tone but gave up around fifteen. Words, even his words, couldn’t do her justice.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and got right to the point. After all, Cassandra didn’t respond well to subtlety.

“Have you noticed that she seems a little - I don’t know… distant?”

Cassandra turned her frown toward the Herald, and Varric lightly punched her knee. “No! Don’t look at her! She’ll know we’re talking about her. Maker’s balls, haven’t you ever talked about someone behind their back before?”

“No,” she said, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she rubbed a hand over her knee. “I typically try to avoid such things. I would much rather be straightforward with a person.”

“I know you would, but that’s not going to work with our Herald over there. We need to find a way to draw her out. Get her to trust us.”  
  
Cassandra furrowed her brow in confusion. “Does she not trust us? She was comfortable fighting alongside us when we stabilized the Breach-”

“Not trust on the battlefield, Seeker. I think she figures we’d have killed her by now if we were going to. No, no. I’m talking about trusting us as people, as _friends_. Think about it like this - What if the situations were reversed? Would you be all happy and chummy with people who were holding you prisoner a couple weeks ago?”

“You are.”

Cassandra gave him a wry smile and cocked an eyebrow at him. Varric snorted, half in irritation, half in amusement at her rare show of humor.

“I wouldn’t call us ‘chummy,’ Seeker. But then again, thanks to your singular interrogation tactics back in Kirkwall, I already knew about you and your book stabbing ways before this whole mess started.” She only snorted in return, so he continued. “I’m just saying, if she’s going to get through this without going crazy, she’s going to need friends, people she can trust and confide in, and we’re about all she’s got right now. The kind of stress she must be under… and being away from her family - her clan… it can’t be healthy. The only one she seems interested in talking to at all is Solas, and even then, they only talk about elves and magic and spirits.”

“That makes sense. They are both elves… and mages.”

“Yes, but-”

He saw the exact moment the idea popped into her head. A smirk settled on her normally stern face.

“You are jealous.”

Varric recoiled and sputtered a little before regaining his composure. “That’s ridiculous.”

But Cassandra had taken hold of the idea and wasn’t about to let it go. “You have always been the companion, the close friend of the hero. Now you have found someone who does not enjoy your games, or at least does not respond to them, and you are jealous of anyone who seems to be closer to her than you.”

“You’re crazy, Seeker. I’m _not_ jealous of the likes of Solas or Curly.”

“The Commander?” Cassandra intoned in confusion. “Who said anything about him?”

Varric groaned. _Now you’ve done it._ He couldn’t backpedal now - the Seeker would eventually beat it out of him.

“I saw them eating at the tavern together right before we left Haven - well, waiting for their dinner together, really. And he made her smile… a real smile… almost a grin really. Not one of those sickly things she gives the rest of us.”

She outright laughed at him now, albeit quietly. “Andraste preserve us! You truly _are_ jealous!”

He sighed. “OK, fine. Maybe I am a little. But that doesn’t change the fact that we need to make an effort to show her she’s more than just a glorified religious figure - more than just a means to an end - or she might not actually _make it_ to the end of this. Can we at least agree on that?”

Cassandra’s laughter died down to an occasional chuckle, and she nodded. “Yes, fine, I do see your point. But we can only do so much. She has to want to reach out. We cannot force that.”

“No need to force anything. Just be open and try to talk with her more.”

Cassandra looked at him with an unreadable expression for a moment and then nodded in response. She let out a final huff of amusement before turning her attention back to her shield.

Varric returned to his perusal of the sky and shot occasional glances toward their reluctant Herald. A consummate meddler, he was determined to crack this puzzle. He just needed more time, and this mission gave him the perfect opportunity.

 

**

 

For the next few days, Varric watched with increasing awe as the Herald effectively dealt with the both the apostate mages and rogue templars while at the same time closing all the rifts they came across. From the beginning, she requested that they use force as a last resort, always calling out for the rebels to surrender and know mercy. Far too few did for his liking. When the rebels of either side attacked them, she dispatched mage and templar alike with a cold efficiency clearly born out of experience. Only the sad look in her eyes after the battle was won betrayed any feelings to the contrary.

And he'd thought she was a complex creature _before_.

After flushing out the mage and templar hideouts, most of the remaining rebels either fled the area or surrendered. With Cassandra's blessing, she offered asylum to both the mages and templars who surrendered, and a few departed toward Haven immediately. Varric chuckled to himself at the thought of Curly dealing with the smattering of mages headed his way. Then again, the ex-templar wasn’t the same man Varric had met in Kirkwall more than ten years ago. Maybe Curly would be alright after all.

For the next few days, the Herald worked just as efficiently to collect healing herbs, hunt for food and provide much needed supplies to the refugees. Mother Giselle, impressed by the Herald’s work, heartily agreed to accompany them back to Haven as soon as Inquisition reinforcements arrived to protect the refugees from further harm.

The Herald then turned her eye to Redcliffe Farms and the Horsemaster they’d been sent to recruit. Varric tagged along as she closed more rifts, cleared out bandits surrounding Horsemaster Dennet’s farm and dealt with possessed wolves threatening the livestock. Dennet then agreed to supply horses for the Inquisition, but wouldn’t accompany them back unless he was sure his farm would be safe. So, they needed to build watch towers.

With the Horsemaster’s permission, they set up camp just outside of Redcliffe Farms. Varric and Cassandra pitched tents while Solas and the Herald collected wood and started up a fire. Although not nearly as cold as Haven, heavy dews in the Hinterlands consistently left fine layers of frost over the grasslands around them, so they circled around the roaring fire as closely as possible, occasionally adjusting positions to keep the chill off their backs.

At Cassandra’s urging, the Herald had begun writing reports every evening to send back to Haven any time they reached an established Inquisition camp. Varric had chuckled to himself as the Seeker solemnly explained the necessity for the menial task, which could be done more quickly if they wrote down the day’s events every evening instead of waiting until they actually reached a checkpoint. The two usually finished the reports within fifteen or twenty minutes, but their fireside sessions had gradually extended into snippets of real conversation. Varric delighted in watching the Seeker not only take his advice but also apologize for distrusting and imprisoning the Herald in the beginning.

Tonight, however, the Herald sent Cassandra directly to her tent to rest after a particularly bad run in with a bear. Around the eighth time he watched the Herald put her quill to paper only to pick it right back up again, he saw his opening.

“Trouble with your report, Herald?” She started, and Varric realized she hadn’t noticed him approaching. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. You just looked like you’re having some trouble getting your words out. As the Seeker is out of commission, and I’ve been known to dabble in writing a bit, I thought I could offer you some assistance?”

She eyed him warily, and Varric made a mental note of the weariness in her demeanor. Finally, a small look of defeat passed over her face.

“Oh, um, thank you. I’m just…” she paused as she shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “I’m just trying to write a request to the Commander for the watch towers. It’s nothing really. No need to concern yourself."

An admirable attempt at a dismissal, but he was on a mission now to gain the good graces of their Herald. He looked over her shoulder at the blank page and raised an eyebrow. _Trouble with a letter to Curly, eh?_ Luckily, she wasn’t looking at him just then, or she would have likely sent him packing immediately for the amused look in his eye.

“You could probably start off with ‘Dear Commander.’”

She turned and gave him a skeptical look. “‘Dear’? Wouldn’t that be too familiar? I mean, for a letter about watchtowers.”

He just couldn’t help teasing her a little bit. “It doesn’t have to be ALL about watchtowers. I noticed you and Curly getting to know each other at the tavern before we left. Why not add in something about hoping to catch dinner with him there when you return?”

“Varric! The Commander and I are not - we aren’t - I mean - that would be inappropriate.”

Shit. He’d done it again. Her face turn bright red and that familiar pained expression crossed her face. But her flustered answer told him more than she'd likely intended. He'd bet any amount of money that the elf found their Commander attractive. _Something to keep an eye on… and maybe place a bet or two if I can find takers._

“Sorry, Snowflake. I have trouble keeping my thoughts to myself sometimes. I know that bothers you, and I really am trying. But-”

His calculated risk paid off. She looked at him, pink fading from her cheeks and replaced with a vague curiosity mixed with wariness in her eyes as she interrupted his apology.

“Snowflake?”

“I’ve decided that’s your new nickname. I can tell you’re not a fan of all the ‘Herald of Andraste’ stuff. That sour look on your face gives you away. So I’ve been trying to think of something that means ‘beautiful but deadly.’ You use cold magic a lot. And snow can be deadly stuff if you’re not protected against it, but it’s also extraordinarily beautiful. Take that and, you know, your hair, the irony of how much you hate the cold plus how delicate you look, and it had to be Snowflake.”

A small silence descended as she stared at him, eyes open wide and mouth slightly agape. She blinked once, and when she finally spoke, she sounded as surprised as she looked.

"That's actually... Really nice of you." Then, raising a hand to her short white locks she asked shyly, “You think I’m beautiful… and… and deadly?”

“Only to your enemies, Snowflake. After witnessing the full capabilities of your magic, I want to be damn sure I’m not anywhere near that category.”

She gave him a small smile. It was a start. Then his mouth went and mucked things up again.

“And of course I think you’re beautiful… me along with everyone else. Even Solas over there stares at you when he thinks you’re not looking.”

The red rose again in her cheeks as Varric spoke, but at his mention of the apostate, her face sobered immediately. _Disaster averted._ He needed to get better control of his tongue. It was such a foreign concept to him, though...

She darted a quick glance at Solas. The elf was sitting outside his tent, seemingly meditating. Her voice lowered a whisper.

“Do you know anything about him?”

“Chuckles? Not really except that he’s good with magic... And boring.”

“Chuckles?”

“More of an ironic nickname in his case.”

She tried valiantly to fight off a smile, and Varric felt a little thrill of victory flow through him. Her next words gave him pause, however.

“Lately I've had the feeling that he’s hiding something. It’s just a feeling, though. Nothing concrete.”

“Like a gut feeling?” Varric questioned. “I get those, and if it helps, my gut is telling me the same thing.”

She furrowed her brow. “Sort of like a gut feeling, I guess. My clan used to call it my ‘extra’ sense. I just know when people aren’t telling the whole truth. Solas has something to hide.” Her eyebrow cocked as she regarded Varric briefly and then added, “And I could say the same thing about you.”

Varric was legitimately surprised. “Me? You think I’m hiding something?”

She let out a short puff of exasperation. “I’ve picked up enough of your and Cassandra’s conversations to know something is up, Varric. Call it a gift if you will, but I know I'm right.” She gave Solas another furtive glance and then looked back at Varric. “Solas is definitely hiding something. But so are you, even if it’s only from Cassandra.”

Considering their longest talk up to this point had been light and rather stunted conversation about things such as the weather in the Free Marches or the annoying biting bugs in the Hinterlands, Varric was taken aback by the intense turn in conversation… and the discernment of the Herald. It was as if a whole other section had been added to an already complex puzzle, and he had yet to actually place any of the pieces he’d sussed out thus far. Every time he thought he'd snapped a piece into place, she did or said something that totally shifted the picture. He wondered for the first time if he had waded too deep with this one.

 _Too late now. I’m already in the thick of it._ He decided to be honest but vague.

“You’re right. I am hiding something from Cassandra, but I’m doing it to protect a dear friend. Does that absolve me at least a little bit in your eyes?”

She tilted her head as she spoke. “If this is just between you and the Seeker, what does my opinion matter?”

“I told you, Snowflake.” He paused and pointed toward the ornate staff leaning on the log next to her. “I’m trying to make sure I’m not on the receiving end of that thing.”

She let out a small burst of laughter at that, and Varric grinned back at her. _Now we're getting somewhere_. She then gave him a hard look before nodding slightly.

“Alright. I’ll take your word for it… for now. Honestly, I'm a little impressed that you held out against Cassandra's interrogation tactics. She's more than a bit terrifying." They shared a smile, but then she added in a firmer tone, "But I don’t take kindly to being lied to, and I’m betting Cassandra doesn’t either… And, for the record, I don’t actually need a staff to do magic. It just helps with focusing the power.”

She held out her hand, and an ice crystal suddenly hovered in her palm briefly before being engulfed in flames and melting through her fingers. Varric cleared his throat and laughed uncertainly. She may not be good at social things, but when it came to business, he could see why the advisors insisted on her input. She was shrewd, to the point and undeniably clear about her position on official matters. He could respect that.

“Uh… duly noted. Should we get back to your letter?”

She sighed and wrote out the words “Dear Commander” in flowing script at the top of the page and then turned a pleading look on him. “Now what?”

It took almost an hour, but gradually - after several destroyed sheets of parchment and a few rounds of shy laughter - Varric coaxed a longer and more relaxed letter out of her than he knew she would have written on her own. She had even begun doodling on the side of the letter as they neared the end. _Just the kind of thing Curly will love_. When she vaguely mentioned a more personal matter, Varric used all his charms to get her to write it out. She blushed hotly throughout the whole thing and wouldn’t let him read it, though he caught the gist by slyly reading over her shoulder while she concentrated on writing. It was an apology that Curly would surely think unnecessary… and endearing.

Varric thrilled a little at the idea. An elven mage and ex-Templar love story would be _pure gold_ for a book about the Herald of Andraste, Hero of Thedas. Varric considered he should probably tell her at some point that he was planning to write her story, but right now he just wanted to stay on her good side. _It would be better to wait until after we’ve strengthened our friendship a bit more. No reason to risk frostbite from one of her wicked ice spells._

Which reminded him. She’d long since sent her letter off with a Inquisition messenger, and they now sat on the log together in a comfortable silence, the scent of earth and campfire lacing the air. He pushed at a twig with the toe of his boot, glancing at her profile as she stared unseeing into the flames.

“I’m curious, Snowflake,” he began quietly, “if you hate cold so much, why spend so much time perfecting your cold spells?”

Varric internally whooped as she turned to face him and _finally_ gave him a genuine grin. A real laugh _and_ a real grin in one night? He mentally patted himself on the back. For her sake, however, he carefully kept his face neutral, no matter how triumphant he felt on the inside. He was still a little miffed Curly had gotten that grin out of her first, but he took this as a win, regardless.

“Well, the power to use magic is drawn from the Fade, as I’m sure you know. But because we’re manipulating that magic in the physical world, a tiny bit of the spell’s power is actually drawn from the mage’s surroundings. Creating one element, such as ice, usually causes a residual opposite effect around the conjurer. So, every time I cast a freeze spell, I’m actually bathing myself in a tiny swath of warmth. If I’m in a hot climate, I usually switch to fire unless I’m battling something immune to it. I’m actually better at fire spells than ice believe it or not.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “I believe it. But I've seen mages use warming or cooling spells on themselves before. How does that work?"

"It's all about where the spell is being directed. If you're casting over yourself, the opposite effect will be felt just outside the spell's area of effect."

"And what about electricity?”

“I try not to use it as much. Makes my hair flatter than a pancake for the rest of the day.”

He laughed heartily, and she smiled shyly as she stood up, clearly pleased that she’d made him laugh out loud. “Thanks for the help with the letter, Varric. I’m off to bed. In the next few days, we've still got to find the Grey Warden and ask him about the rest of the missing Wardens, close any more rifts we find, and look for more of those strange shards."

“I’m right behind you. Sleep well, Snowflake.”

As she walked to the tent she shared with Cassandra, he chuckled to himself at her unexpected joke. She was a mystery, but that might not turn out to be such a bad thing after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you might have noticed the mild AU of timeline (Blackwall's recruitment). It's basically laziness on my part. I have no other excuse.


	6. In which a flicker of a flame burns brighter

Cullen woke at dawn to the sound of the runner dropping off the morning's correspondence. It was the first morning in several weeks that he hadn't been woken either by a nightmare or with a crick in his neck from falling asleep at his desk. Throwing off his blankets, he yelped softly as the cold air nipped at his skin and hurried over to his tiny stove to build up the fire that had burned down overnight. He threw a bit of icy water on his face from the mercifully unfrozen wash basin and pulled on a linen tunic. Picking up the pile of reports and missives from where the runner had dropped them through a crack in the tent flap, he moved to toss them on his desk and begin his morning exercises when he caught sight of a sweeping "Comm" in the Herald's now familiar handwriting.

 _That's odd_. Usually Leliana saved any correspondence or reports from the Herald for them to review at the war table together. He pulled the sealed roll of parchment out of the stack.

_Commander Cullen_

Suddenly, it seemed a little harder to breathe. He sucked in sharply and mentally berated himself. He was being ridiculous. It was no doubt a letter detailing Inquisition business in the Hinterlands - no more or less important than the rest.

He placed the pile on his desk and turned away, pulling on an arming doublet over his tunic. He would deal with the letters and reports later. Anyway, he should make sure Lieutenant Esthiel had already woken the recruits for breakfast. At the very least he should get his own breakfast before morning exercises began. Or perhaps he would go for a run to clear his head.

_Maker's breath, why is it so hard to breathe in this damn tent?_

He untied his tent flap and stepped outside, filling his lungs with fresh, cool air. His limbs felt tense and restless. _A run, then._

As spring transitioned into summer, the snow around Haven had mostly melted and left the paths and training ring a muddy mess. The air held less of the bite he’d become used to in the past few months, but considering Haven’s elevation in the Frostback Mountains, it would never be truly warm. The soldiers, however, were grateful for any small reprieve.

As he fought for firm footholds along the muddy path, he relished the burning in his legs and chest. He worked to keep his head clear of all thoughts and focused on the sounds of his own breathing. He refused to think of the letter waiting on his desk. He would _not_ think on it.

The sun was just peeking over the horizon as Cullen loped back up the hill toward the encampment. The recruits began gathering around the training area, shoveling in mouthfuls of porridge between conversations. He nodded to the Lieutenant, stopped in at the mess tent for a bowl of his own and then headed back to his tent to clean himself up. The porridge tasted awful, but it filled his belly. He'd need it to get him through the rest of the morning.

He peeled off the sweaty layers of clothing and washed up the best he could as the heat from his stove continued to warm the tent. It took a few minutes to pull on all his armor, and he cast furtive glances toward the desk as he buckled his arming doublet, as he attached his cuirass, as he pulled on his greaves and vambraces. Finally, he sat down at his desk. He stared at the words again. Then slowly, almost reverently, he broke the seal.

The length of the letter surprised him. It filled nearly the entire page, including a postscript at the bottom that looked as if it had been written more hastily than the rest. A few scribbled-out sections darkened the page, and a pretty, elven-looking design covered the left margin. All in all, the letter looked decidedly… unbusinesslike. Taking a deep breath, he began reading.

_Dear Commander,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I am currently sitting beside the fire at our camp just outside of Redcliffe Farms enjoying the relative warmth and peacefulness of the spring evening. Although there is a chill in the air, the warm, sunny days are a blessing for this cold-natured elf. Perhaps I can be allowed to hope that Haven has warmed a bit since I left as well?_

_But on to the point - I have endeavored to include as many details as possible about our dealings with the horsemaster in my reports tonight, but I (scribbled out word looking vaguely like “needed”) wanted to ask your opinion on one final matter before I finalize anything._

_Horsemaster Dennet has agreed to supply horses for the Inquisition, but he will not agree to join the Inquisition and tend them himself until he is sure his lands are safe. It sounds like a reasonable request, except that his idea of ensuring safety requires building three watchtowers around his farm. I know that we are still recruiting our troops and that this project would take considerable time and resources away from other missions. However, the Horsemaster is very good at what he does, and I have discovered several abandoned logging operations nearby (noted on the attached map) which will simplify the process, so I’m inclined to grant his request. But please... I would appreciate your guidance on this matter._

_Regardless, we will need a contingent of soldiers to retrieve the promised horses from Redcliffe Farms at your earliest convenience._

_There is another, somewhat personal, matter that I wished to address with you as well. I had hoped to talk with you in person, but our farewell was too brief to really discuss it and I fear it may be some time before I can return to Haven. This letter, however, has give me the opportunity (illegible scribbled-out words) to apologize for my behavior at the final war council meeting before my departure. I was unprofessional. I hope you will take this apology for what little it’s worth and not hold my inappropriate emotional outburst against me._

_As much as I might wish it, I know there isn’t much chance the spymaster won’t read this (please, no offense intended, Leliana). Regardless, please convey my deepest apologies to both her and Josephine as well._

_All my best wishes,_

_Evana Lavellan_

_PS - Varric helped me write most of this letter except for the last two paragraphs (I would never use the word “endeavor” in real life) because Cassandra is recovering from a nasty fight with a bear. Don’t worry, she’s fine, just needs rest - you can read more about that in my attached report._

Cullen read the letter three times before he could properly process it. She thought she had offended him? Perhaps he had been somewhat distant at their parting, but that had nothing to do with her mild outburst in the war room.

 _And everything to do with how she looks at Solas,_ his subconscious reminded him.

He swallowed hard and fought back equal parts embarrassment over his ridiculous jealousy and anger that he still hadn’t shaken off these inappropriate thoughts. He pushed the letter aside and tried to focus on the other reports on his desk, but his thoughts turned instead to that look of admiration on her face as she listened to the apostate elf talk about the Fade. She’d been too caught up in the other elf’s tales to hear Cullen approaching. Although he’d intended to find her and return her gloves, he’d quickly walked past them and all the way to his tent before he remembered the tiny woolen gloves still clenched tightly in his fist.

Since the morning she left, he’d done his best to be rational about it. He determined he must snuff the small flicker of a flame for the elven mage with a strong mind, depth of soul and ethereal beauty. She was their Herald, a figure of inspiration and, from all the reports, an impressively focused mage warrior, but in reality, he knew little about her. And she had only recently stopped looking at him like he might strike her down any moment. This was an ill-advised infatuation, plain and simple, born out of stressful times. In all likelihood, he’d simply projected onto the Herald his decade-old affections for the Hero of Ferelden.

Surprisingly, his tactics to forget her had worked for the most part. Throughout the last two weeks, he’d been unerringly focused on his duties and ruthless in crushing down any thoughts of the Herald beyond those required as Commander of the Inquisition. After all, he’d spent the better part of his life practicing denial. Only at night, when he let his guard down and drifted into a fitful, nightmare-riddled sleep, did his thoughts briefly linger on her soft smile.

Now, as he sat considering her letter, he found he couldn’t muster the will to crush down the musings nor snuff the tiny flame that apparently still burned inside him despite his attempts to extinguish it. Not yet, anyway. She’d clearly been thinking about her apology for some time. Had she been… she hadn’t been thinking of _him_ this entire time, had she?

_No, of course not. That's ridiculous._

Even still, as he read through the letter a fourth time, the flame - and a faint glimmer of hope - flared briefly in the back of his mind. It stayed with him as he took a longer amount of time than he would ever admit to pen his response, trying to keep in mind the watchful eye of the spymaster. It remained even as he went through morning exercises with the recruits and when he sat down to read through the rest of the correspondence later that morning.

As he read through the most recent reports, he couldn’t help feeling like he was reading one of Varric’s fictions. But no, here was Cassandra’s dry, matter-of-fact tone. He knew he could trust the Seeker to tell the absolute truth, so the truth must be that the Herald was damned impressive out in the field, to the point of almost being too good to believe.

Intelligent, beautiful _and_ dangerous? The flame flickered a little higher.

The sounds of someone pacing outside the door interrupted his thoughts. After a word from Cullen, a boy finally looked into the tent warily.

“Uh, excuse me, Commander.”

Cullen had never seen the boy before. Leliana must have acquired some new recruits of her own.

“Yes? What is it?”

The runner's next words confirmed his suspicions. “I - uh - Sister Leliana has asked that I retrieve - ummm…”

He knew he didn’t owe the spymaster anything as of yet, having stayed up late into the night to complete everything from the previous day. He glared at the boy.

“Spit it out, boy.”

“I delivered some things to you this morning without Sister Leliana’s consent,” he admitted in a rush. “She hasn’t seen them, yet, and told me I had to come back and retrieve them from you. Also, she says she’d like to move the war council meeting up to… well, right now.”

Cullen’s mind worked quickly as the boy stumbled through his explanation. She hadn’t seen this morning’s correspondence? That meant…

“Tell Sister Leliana that I will deliver the reports personally in a few minutes on my way to the war table.”

The boy hesitated, as if not sure whether to comply. Cullen snapped, “Quick now!” and the messenger flew from the tent, running toward Haven’s gates as if the wrath of the Fade were on his heels.

Cullen gave a short huff of amusement. The spymaster wouldn’t be happy with that response, but he couldn’t risk doing what he was about to do in front of the runner. Quickly, as if Leliana herself might appear at any moment, Cullen pulled the letter out from the pile of maps and reports, folded it carefully and walked to a large trunk at the back of the tent. Reaching for a key in a small, hidden pocket in his breeches, he unlocked the trunk, placed the letter safely among a pile of other important papers, and then closed and relocked the lid. He grabbed his response letter as well as the rest of the documents before heading off to the war council meeting, telling himself the whole way that he was being irrational and foolish again. But instead of allowing the doubt drown it out, that tiny flame burned all the more brightly, and he suddenly knew he could take any amount of ribbing and displeasure to keep that letter to himself. Leliana wouldn’t like it, but she would have to deal with it.

A wry smile crossed his lips as he whispered under his breath, “ _I shall endure._ ”

The meeting went better than he expected, and he managed to nonchalantly mention both the letter and the fact that he'd left it in his tent without turning red - a small miracle. When Leliana questioned him about it, he merely responded that it was a letter asking him his opinion on whether they could spare laborers and troops for Dennet's project. Josephine and Leliana both agreed it was worth the investment of time and resources.

"I thought you might, so I took the liberty of writing an affirmative response to be sent immediately." He handed her his letter. "I should also mention that she wanted me to convey her apologies to you both about her self-proclaimed ‘unprofessional’ behavior at her last war council meeting."

"Really?" Josephine asked in a surprised tone. "That didn't take long."

Leliana looked at her in confusion. "What do you mean? She apologized already at the meeting. This seems like..."

"Like she is learning the benefit of diplomacy." Josephine finished.

Leliana nodded. "I see. Perhaps similar to the way our Commander is learning the benefit of secrecy?"

Two pairs of mischievous eyes turned to him. He sputtered a little and felt his heart begin to pound, heat creeping up his chest to his neck. His hand moved to clutch at his neck in his typical involuntary gesture of discomfort. So much for his earlier composure.

"I - I don't know what you're talking about."

Leliana and Josephine laughed heartily before the spymaster finally relented. "Don't worry, Commander. You can keep the letter to yourself … this time. If I thought you at all capable of deceit, this would be a different conversation, but as it is... well, you’re you, aren’t you? Keep it.” She sighed and then added in a deadly tone, “Make no mistake; it won't happen again."

Josephine laughed at her friend. "Please tell me you didn't kill the poor boy!"

"Of course not. I just strung him up by his toes in the Chantry bell tower."

Josephine stopped laughing immediately and shuddered. "Don't even joke about that kind of thing."

Leliana cocked a brow and shot an amused half smile at the ambassador. "Did I bring back some bad memories? Anything you care to share with the group?"

Josephine scowled at her. "Not particularly."

Shooting a knowing look across the table, Leliana spoke in a loud whisper to Cullen. "Our ambassador’s days as a bard must have been far more eventful than I thought."

Cullen let out a short puff of laughter, glad for once to not be on the receiving end of Leliana's teasing. One dirty look from Josephine, however, had him gently backing toward the door.

"If there's nothing more to discuss, I should - uh - start arranging for troops to depart for the Hinterlands."

Leliana giggled and waved him off, then shouted after him. "I'm going to read your letter before I send it. I hope you knew that before writing it!"

Cullen knew she wouldn't find anything compromising in his letter, but that didn't prevent the blush from rising on up to his cheeks as he strode purposefully back to his tent. Despite his attempt to look too busy to be bothered, he was stopped outside the gates of Haven by a distracted Harritt.

“Ah, pardon me, Commander, but, ah… is there any news on when the Herald might return?”

The smith had been avoiding him up to now, so the man’s direct question surprised Cullen. He had been promised a sword two weeks ago, but Harritt continued to ask for more time. It was really no problem - Cullen liked the sword he had just fine, actually - but Cassandra had insisted that the Commander of the Inquisition forces should have a majestic sword to match his standing.

“I’m afraid that it may be at least another week before she returns,” Cullen replied.

“Oh… hmmmm... “

Cullen gave the smith a sidelong glance. He knew the two of them had been thick as thieves almost from the first moment she landed in Haven, but this seemed odd even for them.

“Is there something I can do for you in the meantime, Harritt?”

“What? Oh… no. Well…” He took a deep breath and explained, “I’ve been trying to wait for her to return to give you your new sword because … well, she helped craft it, you see. I didn’t want to take that away from her, even though she said it was no problem. But it’s just sitting there in my shop, and I feel bad for… misleading you as to why you couldn’t have it, yet. I’d like to wait for her, though, if it’s all the same to you.”

Surprise coursed through him, and he had to work at keeping his expression neutral. She’d helped craft his new sword?

“I - I don’t mind waiting. Not at all.”

The smith broke out into a huge grin and pounded Cullen on his pauldrons. “I thought you mightn’t. You can’t tell my Lady Herald, though. She thinks I’ve already given it to you.”

Cullen’s heart dropped. “She does?”

Harritt nodded as he walked away. “I told her I likely would have to before she returned. But it’ll be much better this way, right?”

“Yes. Uh... thank you,” he called uncertainly after Harritt’s retreating form.

Cullen wished he hadn’t been so quick about sending that letter off to the Herald. But what could he have said? Casually mention that Harritt still hadn’t given him the sword? Or tell her the truth that Harritt was waiting for her to come back before giving it to him? Either way, he would have made an awkward mess of it, and Leliana would gain more ammunition in her bid to embarrass him at every opportunity. The Herald had probably forgotten all about it anyway. He allowed himself a moment of curiosity to wonder which part of the sword she’d crafted.

And the tiny flame burned hotter in his chest.

The sound of sparring exercises gradually reminded him of his immediate duties. Walking toward his tent, he caught Captain Rylen’s eye and motioned for the man to follow. Rylen immediately handed off the practice session to Lieutenant Rozellene and met Cullen at his tent. The fellow ex-templar was older than Cullen by a few years and had also been a Knight-Captain in the Free Marches - the Starkhaven Circle specifically. Cullen knew him from their time together in Kirkwall when the Starkhaven Knight-Commander sent Knight-Captain Rylen and a unit of templars to aid in the aftermath of the Kirkwall Rebellion. Rylen was proficient at problem-solving and tended to speak his mind. Cullen had the utmost respect for his judgment. He would be perfect.

“I’ve got a job for you, Rylen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, so much denial for our poor Cullen.


	7. In which we see portents of future fancies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Commander's response arrives, and Evana dreams of Fen'Harel.

The party traveled south and set up an Inquisition camp near the lake where Leliana had said they would find the Grey Warden. Once established, she wasted no time in recruiting Warden Blackwall for the Inquisition, though she liked him about as well as anyone could like a sad nug like him. He was just so abrupt and depressing, and she could tell he was hiding something, too.

_Creators! Does everyone have secrets these days?_

Despite her reluctance, she knew that Blackwall would be an asset to the Inquisition. She couldn’t deny that he fought well, and he was good backup for Cassandra as they spent a couple of days exploring the region, closing rifts, setting up a few more camps and collecting more of the mysterious stone shards that seemed to be strewn about everywhere.

As she moved through the countryside, she did her best to keep her insecurities at bay and complete the jobs outlined for her by the advisors and Cassandra. She overanalyzed and agonized over the smallest decisions, and although Cassandra and Varric praised her skill as a mage warrior, she still felt strange and out of place with the Inquisition. She constantly looked to Cassandra for guidance, which the Seeker, thankfully, willingly provided. In the end, however, she invariably left the final decisions to Evana.

 _When exactly did the advisors decide that I, of all people, have the skills and knowledge necessary to make decisions for the Inquisition?_ She barely considered herself a _part_ of the Inquisition. Having such power and responsibility within the organization terrified her.

And yet, a sense of rightness welled up inside her as she looked into the eyes of the people they’d saved. Each effusive word of gratitude filled her with a hope she hadn't felt in years - so long, in fact, she’d convinced herself she didn't need it. But each morning, she awoke eager to begin the day. To help more. To be useful. To be _wanted_.

They returned to the camp at Redcliffe Farms as the late afternoon set the fields ablaze in an orange glow, and she found a letter waiting for her from the Commander. She admired his bold, even script for a moment before tearing open the seal.

_Dear Herald,_

_Thank you for your letter. I am happy to report that the weather has indeed improved since your departure, though I doubt you will find it as warm as your current location. I also wish to assure you, there is no harm done nor is there any ill will between us. We have all been impressed with the reports of your actions thus far, and you continue to prove your immeasurable worth through your decisions and abilities. To that end, we discussed your question briefly, and Josephine and Leliana agreed with me than the expenditure of resources would be well worth the promise of Horsemaster Dennet personally overseeing the Inquisition stables._

_I will be sending Captain Rylen with a full contingent of soldiers and laborers to start work on the watchtowers immediately. You can expect them to arrive in five or six days, depending on weather and other factors. Once the watchtowers are completed, Dennet can outfit the contingent with steeds and send any additional horses along with the group. We will be happy to receive the horsemaster in Haven at his earliest convenience._

_In addition, quite a few issues have come up since your departure that we’d like to discuss with you in person as soon as possible. We eagerly await your safe return._

_Cordially yours,  
Commander Cullen Rutherford_

_PS - I did not have a best-selling author’s help in writing this letter, so forgive the formality and brevity. Also, because of a mistaken delivery, I received your letter first; therefore, Leliana didn’t have an opportunity to read it. I hope that is agreeable to you._

Evana laughed aloud at the Commander’s postscript. She was quite relieved that he was the only one who had seen her borderline unprofessional letter. His own letter bore a date of five days ago, so the forces should be arriving sometime tomorrow for sure. She breathed a soft sigh of relief that this portion of her mission might almost be over.

After reading through the letter a second time, her eyes softened and lingered on the closing signature. Cordially yours? The sentiment was… nice. She took a shaky breath as she reread his praise of her efforts. His words bolstered her confidence immensely, and she wondered briefly why his praise affected her so much. Perhaps it was simply that she respected his considerable tactical knowledge and abilities. Regardless, the man she was coming to know bore little resemblance to the man she’d assumed he’d be. In fact, he seemed to be quite the opposite of everything she thought she knew about templars.

Maybe, just maybe, an apostate mage and an ex-templar might actually become… friends?

“Did you receive an amusing letter?”

Solas’ voice broke into her musings, and she hastily folded the letter, placing it in the inside breast pocket of her armored coat. “Yes… uh, that is… no. I mean - it’s just a letter from the Commander about constructing watchtowers. We should be able to leave here in a few days.”

“The Commander? I am surprised. I did not realize he had sense of humor.”

Evana tried to keep her tone and expression even as she looked him in the eye and answered. “You wouldn’t think it would you? He’s so serious most of the time. But he does.”

She couldn’t seem to stop her voice from softening at the last. Solas shifted almost imperceptibly, and though he didn’t break eye contact, his voice took on an edge she’d never heard before.

“Well… no matter. I merely stopped by to see if you were interested in another practice session this evening. I thought we might work on the ice spell troubling you yesterday.”

After their first battle in the Hinterlands, she and Solas had decided to take time each evening to share and practice spells together. She’d already learned a great deal from the older elf, though she wasn’t sure how much he benefitted from the experience. They rarely talked about anything personal during the sessions, but since her talk with Varric around the fire, she had occasionally caught him watching her, just as the dwarf had said. His gaze unnerved her, but she could feel no malice in the looks. Gradually, she relaxed around him, due in large part to the fact that practicing with the other elf reminded her distinctly of home.

This evening, however, he remained uncharacteristically silent except when instructing her on a gesture or inflection. The silence felt heavy around them. Just as their session was about to end, she worked up the courage to address it.

“Is something wrong, Solas?”

He looked askance at her before replying in a detached tone. “Why do you ask?”

Awkwardness battled with embarrassment as she fumbled over her next spell. “I - I don’t know.”

She cast the ice spell at the rock target they had agreed upon, but it fizzled miserably. Solas shook his head, clearly exasperated.

“No, lethallan. We have reviewed this several times now.”

Throwing his own staff into the grass, he walked to stand directly behind her and grabbed her right hand, placing it on her staff. Then, he moved his other hand to clench her left hip and repeated with her the steps she already knew but had been too distracted to execute properly. With his magic and hers combined, the spell came down on the rock like a hurricane, freezing and then shattering it into dust with a deafening boom.

In the distance, she heard Varric and Blackwall cheer, but she couldn’t focus through the fog in her brain. Solas’ hand dug almost painfully into her hip and his right hand tightened around hers. She could feel his breath catch on the tip of her ear.

“ _That_ is how you do it.”

His low voice sent a chill down her spine - though whether from her embarrassment at his continued nearness or the undefinable tenor in his voice, she couldn’t tell. After a few agonizing moments, he released her and backed away. Turning to face him, their eyes met briefly, and an emotion she didn’t recognize passed over his face.

“I believe that is enough for tonight. Dusk has fallen, and our target has been annihilated in any case.”

He picked up his staff and began walking back to the camp. She followed at a distance, her face burning hot with embarrassment as she replayed the scene in her head. Solas entered his tent at the far end of the camp, but her tent lay beyond the fire where Varric, Blackwall and Cassandra busily cleaned their weapons or polished their armor. She groaned internally when Varric called out to her as she passed by.

“Geez, Snowflake! That rock never knew what hit it! You and Chuckles got some sort of secret magic going on?”

She knew he meant it as an innocent question, and she tried not to react to it. But Varric had steadily become more attuned to her in the past few weeks, and his face quickly contorted into what she’d jokingly begun referring to as his “Aww, shit!” look - a face he made whenever things were about to go south quickly. She’d seen it quite a few times since their first battle in the Hinterlands. She attempted to make light of it.

“Varric, you’ve got that look on your face.”

And he wasn’t having any of it. “Damn right I do. What happened?”

“It’s nothing. He’s just in a strange mood, and I think he was irritated that I asked him why. I mean, I think. It’s hard to tell with Solas.”

Varric looked genuinely surprised. “He got angry with you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him have any actual emotions, so that must have been a sight to see. Did he - hurt you?”

“What?!” she exclaimed in surprise. “No, no, of course not.”

Cassandra took the opportunity to chime in as well. “Solas is not that type of person, Varric. You would know that by now if you would take the opportunity to get to know him.”

Evana was a little surprised by the Seeker’s remark, and Varric seemed to be as well, though he remained silent. Evana sat down beside Varric and gazed at him until he finally turned to her. Blackwall and Cassandra, both sitting on the other side of the fire, had continued their discussion of the advantages and disadvantages of two-handed weapons, so she spoke in a low voice.

“Why do you think Solas would hurt me? Do you... have you heard something?”

Varric shook his head and sighed. “No, no, nothing like that, but like we talked about before, I’ve got a bad feeling about that guy. I don’t know why, and I can’t even tell you if it’s reasonable, but he makes me nervous.”

She shrugged. “I feel that way about most people... except Cassandra, of course. She’s sort of like a saint in that regard.”

“Yeah, a saint with a penchant for torture techniques,” he said wryly.

“I suppose that’s true.” She smiled briefly, but the expression soon faded. “In all seriousness, maybe you should take her advice. At the very least, getting to know him might lead you closer to the truth. I know I had misgivings about him at first, as I did with you all, but...” She turned toward Solas’ tent with a distant look in her eyes. “I think he might just be rather lonely.”

Varric gave a skeptical grunt and picked up a long stick to poke at the fire. She stared at the coals for what seemed like hours, listening to the ebb and flow of muted conversations throughout the camp. Eventually, she absently reached into her pocket to slide the smooth parchment of the Commander’s letter between her fingers, and unbeknownst to her, a soft smile spread across her face.

“Whatcha got there, Snowflake?”

Damn dwarf never missed a thing. She swallowed and quickly sat up straight, pulling her hand away from the letter, then moving back up to slowly draw it out of her pocket.

“Right. I forgot. I mean - it’s just a letter.”

The Seeker had turned from her conversation with Blackwall, clearly just as curious as Varric. “A letter? From whom? One of the advisors?”

Varric picked up on it immediately. “He wrote you back, didn’t he? What did he say?”

Cassandra was insistent. “He? He who?”

In spite of her embarrassment, Evana couldn’t help laughing. “It’s just a letter from the Commander. A contingent of soldiers and labors set out toward Redcliffe Farms five days ago to build the watchtowers, and they should be arriving sometime tomorrow. When they get here, we’ll finalize plans with Dennet, ensure the work gets started and then head back to Haven.”

“Finally!” Varric exclaimed. “I’m sick of sleeping on the ground.”

Cassandra snorted at Varric’s outburst and then addressed Evana. “I’m sure the advisors will have many things requiring our attention once we return. Enjoy the relative peace while you can.”

Varric scowled. “Way to kill the mood, Seeker.”

Cassandra just scoffed at him and returned to her conversation with Blackwall.

Scooting a little bit closer, Varric whispered, “Anything _good_ in there?”

Evana shook her head, not willing to trust her voice and especially not wanting to encourage the dwarf’s strange obsession with her and the Commander. Varric let out a tsking noise and shook his head slightly.

“Well, I guess you have to expect that when he’s writing for you _and_ for our beloved spymaster.”

She couldn’t help herself. “What exactly do you think he would write if he didn’t have a spymaster reading his letters?”

“Hopefully something related to his undying love for you.”

“Varric!” she hissed. “You’re incorrigible. I’ve now spent far more time with you, Cassandra and Solas than I ever have with the Commander. We barely know each other well enough to be friends, let alone… anything more. And besides, he’s _human_. And an ex-templar. The very idea is… preposterous! Just let it go, ok?”

“Hmphf. Well, at the very least, I helped improve your vocabulary,” he said as he waggled his eyebrows at her.

She fought off a smile, shook her head and stood up. “I can’t take any more of your humor today. I need some rest.”

After bidding everyone a good night, she walked toward her tent. The night had turned chilly, so she begged an additional blanket from the camp soldiers. Letting out a long sigh of relief as she peeled off her armored coat and under armor, she snuggled down into the blankets and tried to forget the events of the day ever happened.

 

_*** She walked down the shaded path toward her favorite spot - a branch high on the tallest white oak in the forest. A honey-gold glow dappled the leaf-lined pathway as the branches above swayed to the rhythm of a long forgotten song. When she reached the small clearing where the oak towered over the rest of the forest, drenched in the honey glow, she stopped at the sight of a giant wolf lying at the bottom of the tree. It raised its head at her approach, but did not move. Fiery red eyes seemed to drill a hole into her and pull out all her deepest fears._

_“Do not fear me, lethallan. I will not harm you.”_

_The wolf’s voice was soothing and vaguely familiar, but she stood back, still wary. “Are you Fen’Harel?”_

_“Yes, da’len.”_

_A wave of terror washed through her as the giant wolf finally stood and moved toward her, tall as a great bear and infinitely more deadly. She tried to run, but her feet were rooted to the ground. He would eat her in one bite; she knew it._

_“I will not harm you,” the wolf countered, as if reading her thoughts._

_It came close enough for her to feel its breath wafting over the tears streaming down her face. “Please. I beg you… I…”_

_The wolf circled around behind her, and suddenly, something dug into her left hip. Sobbing, she looked down to see a slender but strong hand gripping her. Another reached around to catch hold of her right hand, wrapping around her waist to hold her in place. Her feet were still stuck to the ground. She couldn’t turn around._

_The wolf's voice breathed in her ear. “Yes, ma sa'lath, tell me what you desire.”_

_She jerked away as teeth nipped the back of her neck._

_"Please, let me go!"_

_Suddenly, the hands broke away and a low growl filled her ears. The ground beneath her began to shake, and her feet became her own once more. Running toward the white oak, she tried to pull herself up into the safety of its branches toward the honey glow above, but teeth ripped into the flesh of her leg, pulling her back down. She screamed as the tree and the glow faded away, and she fell backwards into blackness.***_

 

Evana woke to Cassandra shaking her violently.

“Please wake up, Herald! You are having a nightmare.”

“Cassandra? What? Ooohhhh, cramp!”

She reached down and began to rub her calf muscle vigorously. Cassandra joined in, her calloused hands digging deeply into the seized muscles. Soon the clenching relaxed enough for Evana to gingerly flex her foot back and forth.

“I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t wake the whole camp... Was I-”

“Screaming? Only once. You also appear to have been crying. What were you dreaming about?”

Evana reached up to feel her wet cheeks and sighed heavily. “I… I don’t remember.”

She wasn't about to share her dream with Cassandra when she wasn’t even sure what it meant herself. As a mage, she could usually walk the Fade easily, avoiding the pitfalls of non-mage dreamers, but she’d had no control over the this dream. It was odd to say the least. Her magic felt unsettled inside her, as if something was pulling at her.

“Thank you, Cassandra. Please, go back to sleep. I’ll be alright.”

The Seeker nodded and left her alone in her tent once more. For the remainder of the night, no other nightmares came, but the dream left her with an uneasy feeling she couldn’t shake. Why could she not control her dream? Why had Fen’Harel called her ma sa’lath - his one love? What was the significance of the similarity between Solas’ actions and the wolf/man in her dream? After what seemed like hours, she rolled over and finally fell into a deep sleep as the pre-dawn light crept softly into her tent.

Around mid-morning, the Commander’s soldiers, headed by Captain Rylen, arrived as promised, and she began settling her affairs with Dennet. In the light of day, her dream seemed less like a portent and more a result of her brain trying to process the events of the previous evening with Solas. After all, he did wear a wolf jaw necklace. And in any case, the older elf had returned to his normal self, nodding to her to her and giving her a small smile as she passed by. She resolved to think of it no more.

Two days later, after ensuring the Captain had things under control, Evana and her companions finally set out for Haven with Mother Giselle and Blackwall. Riding the new horses from Dennet, they made good time, and Cassandra estimated it would take two and a half days to reach Haven.

"If we ride hard, we could make it in two days, but it wouldn't be good for the horses… or poor Mother Giselle," she cautioned.

So they continued on at a leisurely pace, camping along the road for two more nights and filing into Haven just after noon the third day. They had only been away for a little less than a month, yet during that time, the Inquisition had not been idle. The number of military tents lining the path to Haven’s gates had almost doubled. The Commander stood near the practice ring, leading the training exercises for the troops as usual, and she ignored the flush of hotness in her cheeks as he lifted a hand and smiled at her then started in her direction. She smiled back, dismounting and allowing one of the soldiers to take the reins and lead the horse toward the stables for grooming.

“Hello, Commander! It’s - good to see you,” she called somewhat stiffly as he approached, fighting her shyness as well as she could.

“You as well, Herald.”

He stopped in front of her and gazed at her for a moment with the soft eyes she remembered from their talk at the tavern. A ghost of a smile lingered on his lips. After a moment, however, he seemed to remember something, and the look quickly melted into professionalism.

“I know you’ve just arrived and are probably tired from your journey, but we need to assemble as soon as possible. Are you feeling up to it?”

“Of course,” she replied, looking away in an attempt to hide her exhaustion as much as possible. “Lead the way, Commander.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of an in-between chapter, but this is setting up for future happenings. Next we'll see things from Josie's perspective.


	8. In which Josie fixes what the Commander breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title says it all - the Commander makes an error in judgment at the war table and Josie comes to the rescue... sort of.

Josephine approached the Chantry doors just as Leliana, Cullen and Cassandra entered with the Herald. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on out there?”

Still walking, Cullen sighed and rubbed at his temples before responding. "Which part? The crowd egging on a dispute between some mages and soldiers? Or Chancellor Roderick being, well... himself?"

She turned to walk with them toward the war room. "Ah, I see. Luckily, he is mostly harmless." Falling in step beside the Herald, Josehpine smiled warmly. "And good afternoon to you, Your Worship. What an exciting welcome back to Haven!"

The Herald gave her a small smile and a nod, but said nothing. Josephine was practiced in making people comfortable - it was her job after all - but the elf had proven more difficult to manage than the ambassador anticipated. She’d researched Dalish culture but discovered little beyond wide generalizations. All her contacts had essentially told her same thing - all Dalish clans are different. One must get to know the clan itself in order to know their customs, which was why she now needed the Herald's expertise on a certain letter from Clan Lavellan. Once they arranged themselves around the war table, Josephine addressed the Herald.

“First, we’ve received a letter from your clan-”

“Oh, no!”

Josephine stopped, confused for a moment, then hastily reassured her, “It’s nothing distressing, Your Worship. They are simply misinformed about your current status with the Inquisition.”

She handed over a parchment and watched the Herald’s expression turn from fear to a light smirk as she briefly read over the letter. “They think I’m being held prisoner.”

Josephine quickly offered to send an elven scribe with a letter assuring them of her safety, but Leliana cut in. “The Dalish respect deeds over words, do they not?”

The Herald nodded. “Yes, we value stories and history, but some sort of offering would be a much more powerful display.”

“If you want powerful,” Cullen cut in, “my troops can deliver news of your safety and make it clear that the Inquisition should be taken seriously.”

Josephine blinked and stared at the Commander in disbelief. Could he be suggesting…? His face rapidly morphed from serious and controlled into puzzlement. Josephine turned to gauge the Herald's reaction, and just as she had feared, the elf had closed her eyes, a mildly pained expression on her face. _Likely remembering something unpleasant from her past_ , Josephine thought. _Poor thing. What had the Commander been thinking? Daft oaf of a man!_

The Herald quickly fought to adopt her usual passive expression and did an admirable job of it as far as Josephine could see. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes, her expression neutral, and folded her shaking hands behind her back while focusing on Leliana.

“Please wait for me to write a reply and then send it with a small token of the Inquisition’s gratitude for doing without one of their own for the duration of the threat to Thedas. Perhaps a bushel of elfroot? We can always use more of the healing herb.”

"Yes, your worship."

During the interchange, Josephine glared at the Commander until he met her eyes, his hand rubbing the back of his neck furiously. To his credit, he immediately mouthed to her, _What should I do?_ With the contrite look on his face, she almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

_Wait_ , she mouthed back.

The Herald's eyes focused on the war table now, her back straight and tense, hands still folded behind her. She clearly avoided the Commander’s gaze but moved the meeting along all the same.

“Do you need anything else from me?” she asked in a calm, quiet tone.

After a small pause, Josephine motioned to Leliana. The spymaster nodded and shifted to the next topic.

“We’ve lost contact with the group of soldiers we sent to the Fallow Mire. It will be difficult to find them, but I think my scouts could quickly and efficiently sweep the largely uncharted area to find out what has happened.”

The Commander looked at Josephine again. She just gave him an exasperated look and gestured for him to go ahead and speak if he had to.

“Some of my men are volunteering to search as well. They are concerned about their comrades,” he added softly. “Or - or I think Josephine could contact the local Bann to see if she knows anything, could you not?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Leliana, you are already dealing with my clan, and Commander, your troops are stretched thin building watchtowers.” She finally looked up from the war table to meet Josephine’s eyes, her jaw set. The ambassador tried to put as much sympathy into her face as possible, but the elf dropped her eyes back to the war table as she continued. “If you are asking for my opinion, I suggest contacting the Bann to see what’s going on.”

Josephine looked at the others, but the other two motioned back to her. She chimed in after another brief pause.

“Yes, I think you’re right, Your Worship... We should also discuss our next move pertaining to the Chantry. Mother Giselle and I have been corresponding, and she has suggested that our Herald travel to Val Royeaux to speak with the Chantry. Their support would go a long way in extending our influence."

Cullen looked at Josephine in disbelief. “You can’t be serious?”

“Mother Giselle isn’t wrong,” Josephine countered. “At the moment, the Chantry’s only strength is that they are united in opinion.”

Leliana seemed put out as well. “And we should ignore the danger to the Herald?”

She saw Cullen nod to Leliana as if to thank her for her support. Josephine internally rolled her eyes, though her external expression remained placid. The Herald wasn’t looking at any of them at the moment, so Josephine gently drew her back into the conversation.

“What do you think, Herald?”

“I’m more concerned that this won’t actually solve any problems.”

Leliana nodded. “I agree. I just adds credence to the idea that we should care what the Chantry says.”

Finally Cassandra, who had been passively watching the meeting proceed, chimed in. “We don’t have any other choice. Right now, we can’t approach anyone for help with the Breach.” She turned to Josephine. “Mother Giselle provided us names. Have we used them?”

Josephine nodded. “I have used what influence we have and called the clerics together. They will be ready in a week’s time.”

"Very well,” the Herald concluded, “I will leave tomorrow with my companions. Anything else?"

The Herald’s voice came out flat and nearly toneless, and Josephine didn't bother looking at the other advisors before answering. "That concludes the most urgent business. We will let you know if there is anything else that requires your attention. Please, go get some rest."

The Herald's eyes met hers again, this time awash in gratitude. "Thank you."

Out of the corner of her eye, Josephine saw Cullen move to follow the Herald. "Commander, before you go, I have something I would discuss with you."

He hesitated, watching the Herald’s retreating form with a mixture of concern and… was that self-loathing?

“If you’ll follow me to my office?”

He looked back to Josephine, and a neutral facade fell into place, his shoulders squared and jaw set. “Of course.”  
  
They walked out of the war room and turned to the small office on the right. No one watching from the outside would have ever known anything was wrong.

“Minaeve, would you mind leaving us for a moment?”

The elven researcher nodded and quietly exited, closing the door behind her with a soft click. As soon as the door closed, Josephine turned an exasperated look on the Commander.

“Really, Commander! How could you be so callous?”

Moving to stand stiffly in front of her desk, he looked down, furrowed his brow and frowned deeply. He spoke in even and measured tones as if he were holding back strong emotions.

“I did not intend any offence.”

Josephine sighed. “You do understand, though, that it was a highly inappropriate thing to say?”

He raised his head but had yet to meet her eyes, one hand hanging listlessly at his side while the other hand moved to rub the back of his neck. “Yes - I mean… I know it was upsetting to her. That much was obvious.”

She sighed again. “You need to become more familiar with Dalish culture if you’re going to advise our Herald. The Dalish live their lives in perpetual fear of being attacked by outsiders, not to mention that we have no idea about her personal experiences with hostile forces. It’s entirely possible - in fact it’s likely - that her clan has been attacked by humans in the past. Has she lost dear ones to such encounters? Does her clan react with hostility at the very sight of humans? I don’t know, but I suspect as much.”

With each sentence, the Commander’s face had become more stricken. She wondered briefly if there were more to his reaction that just embarrassment. They had teased him about the letter, but she hadn’t really thought much of it beyond that. 

“If she’s had bad experiences with humans before...” He shook his head and exhaled sharply, clearly angry with himself for not putting these things together sooner. Finally, he looked up at her with pleading eyes. “I swear to you Josephine. I only meant that we could show her clan how protected and well-provisioned she is with the Inquisition - a show of power to impress, not to intimidate. I didn’t mean it to be - or to even sound - threatening.”

Josephine relented and waved a hand at him dismissively. “Oh, I know. But we must do what we can to remedy the Herald’s discomfort. If you will walk me down to her quarters, I will speak with her, ease her mind if I can and …” she paused for effect, taking a deep breath. “I suppose I can put in a good word for you as well.”

Relief flooded his face as he stood up and offered her his arm, and gratitude radiated from his voice. “Thank you, Josephine.” 

She gave him a sidelong glance and a wry smile as they exited her office and walked through the Chantry. “It is only because I know you have a good heart even if you and I don’t always see eye-to-eye on… diplomatic situations. As Leliana would say… you’re you, aren’t you?” She patted his arm comfortingly. “I will set things right.”

The clouds lifted from his brow slightly. She could see him trying to put up his facade, but the look of self-loathing remained. Josephine frowned slightly, patting his arm again.

She waved at Leliana as they exited the Chantry and returned the spymaster’s questioning look with a quick nod. When they reached the Herald’s quarters, Josephine bid the Commander goodbye, but he hesitated yet again.

“You will need to wait for her to send for you, Commander,” Josephine informed him gently. 

He gave one last look at the closed door and nodded slowly before turning to head out the gates. She walked the rest of the way to the Herald’s door and knocked softly.

“Herald? It’s Josephine. Are you there? I was hoping I might speak with you briefly. I promise I will not take up much of your time.”

She heard a muffled voice and a few seconds later, the door opened to reveal a paler than usual Herald. She looked hastily around Josephine, but relaxed slightly when she saw the ambassador had come alone.

“Please, come in,” she murmured.

Josephine slipped into the darkened room and closed the door behind her. The Herald walked to the fire at the back of the room and pulled up an extra chair next to hers. She motioned for Josephine to sit. She then folded herself into a plush, high-backed chair and pulled a blanket up over her legs. 

“I’m sorry. I just can’t seem to avoid some sort of overreaction when I’m around that war table. Perhaps we should start meeting in the tavern? At least there would be alcohol.”

She gave Josephine a half-hearted smile before slipping back into a sad, exhausted look. Josephine sympathized with her but secretly rejoiced over the attempt at a joke. At least the elf might be open to hearing what the ambassador had to say.

“I think, as usual, you did an admirable job of keeping yourself calm. We made it through the whole meeting, didn’t we? And don’t worry, I’ve thoroughly raked the Commander over the coals for his insensitivity. Although, he was already completely contrite. It’s not difficult to berate someone already so intent on it themselves.”

A look of concern passed over the Herald’s face, and Josephine had to struggle to keep her face passive. After all that, she was concerned for the _Commander_? Oh yes, there was definitely something there.

“I hope… I hope you weren’t too hard on him. I mean, it was shocking to be sure, and I’m still - it still makes me angry to think about it. But... I have to think… perhaps he didn’t know what he was suggesting?”

Josephine had come prepared to use all her diplomatic prowess to convince the Herald to forgive, and here she was defending him on her own. She had to admit to feeling a little disappointed not to be able to use her considerable skills in such an interesting way. However, it was a positive insight into the Herald’s personality - she clearly didn’t care for dischord.

“No, indeed. He meant his suggestion as a way to impress and reassure, not as a method to threaten your people. He understands now that sending his troops would not have had the desired effect.”

The Herald pondered Josephine’s words for a moment before nodding slowly. “I… think I understand now. Yes. I see. That is much more in line with my impression of the Commander. Thank you, Lady Montilyet.”

Josephine bowed her head in acknowledgement, letting a smile hover over her lips before falling into concerned expression. She took a moment to gather her words before speaking.

“Despite your admirable control today,” she began, “I noticed that you seemed to have trouble keeping a neutral expression toward the end. I wondered if perhaps you would allow me to - that is, would you allow me to teach you some techniques to remain passive in situations such as these?”

The Herald’s tired eyes lit up. “Would you? I mean - could you? How does one even teach such a thing?”

Josephine smiled brightly. “It’s quite simple, really. I have a whole set of exercises for mental fortitude.” She paused, giving the Herald a doubtful look. “I’m only concerned about one thing.”

“What’s that?” the Herald asked, mild confusion mixed with concern written on her face. 

“I have a hard enough time reading your expressions as it is. If I teach you my techniques, how will I _ever_ know what you’re thinking?”

The Herald laughed at that and Josephine gladly joined in.

“I suppose you could always try just asking,” the Herald commented between snickers.

“Ah, yes, there is that. But diplomacy is all about telling without telling and asking without asking. Shall I teach you that as well?”

“If it will help get me home sooner, I’m all for it.”

Josephine practiced her own techniques to return to a neutral expression and keep the disappointment from her face. “Of course. I’m sure you miss your family, especially after hearing from them today. I must tell you, though, that I don’t know how long we might continue to need your… special abilities. We’ve been receiving reports of rifts as far away as the Western Approach. As you’re the only one who can close them… I fear it may be some time before you can return to your clan.”

The elf stared at her, vague comprehension dawning on her face. “The… Western Approach? That’s… so… _far_.”

“Yes. They are, of course, unconfirmed reports at this point, but-”

“It’s alright, Josephine,” the Herald interrupted. “I promised I would help, and I will. That doesn’t mean I have to like it all the time, right?”

Josephine gave her a tight-lipped smile, letting some of her relief show through. “Right.”

As Josephine’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dimmer firelight inside the cabin, the ambassador noticed the faint dark circles extending from the Dalish tattoos around the Herald’s eyes. Josephine might have missed the tell-tale signs of exhaustion, the circles nearly imperceptible next to the violet ink, if she hadn’t been sitting so close. Her mind automatically shifted into problem-solving.

“Herald, if I may?” The elf nodded, so she continued. “Would you like me to send for a bath for you? Then perhaps afterward you could rest for a few hours?”

The Herald stared at her, nonplussed. “I… can I do that?”

“Of course! Being a Herald isn’t _all_ work. In fact, I can arrange for you to have a bathing area in your quarters so you’d only have to send for hot water any time you wanted a bath. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it sooner.”

“That would be heavenly, Josephine. I really just need a tub. I can conjure ice and then heat it myself. And after that, I’ll just close my eyes for a few moments.”

Josephine nodded, then added, “You really needn’t to leave tomorrow. It should only take four days to reach Val Royeaux. You could delay your departure if you’d like to take some time to recuperate.”

She could see the elf contemplating her words, but in the end, she shook her head. “No, I want to make sure I get there in time. I’ve been lucky in my journeys up to now, but that doesn’t mean I should take that for granted.”

For all her reticence around people, Josephine had to admit that the Herald had shown impressive decisiveness on strategic missions. “Yes, alright then.” She stood up to leave, but turned back briefly. “The Commander… ?”

The Herald took a deep breath and then gave Josephine a weak smile. “Could you please tell him that I would like to speak with him later this afternoon... if his duties allow?”

“Of course. I’ll tell him right now.”

Slipping out the door, Josephine went to find attendants to assist the Herald with a bath and, remembering the time, told them to bring food for the Herald as well. Then, she turned her feet toward Haven’s gates in search of the Commander. If her growing suspicions were correct, he would be more than relieved to hear what she had to say.

It was an interesting development to say the least - a Dalish elf mage and a human ex-templar - but the romantic side of Josephine also swooned a bit at the idea. Neither of them would be moving quickly, both of them having the same shy, skittish nature when it came to social matters. And if it were left to the Commander, she wondered if anything would happen at all. Cullen was nothing if not an expert in self-denial.

_Well, we’ll just see what we can do about that_ , she thought as a calculating smirk spread across her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're all set up for the Commander learning a few things about his Herald's past. Warning: Angst with a side of fluffiness ahead!


	9. In which a mage and an ex-templar come to terms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Evana have a long talk and get some things out in the open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll see a lot of Evana's backstory in this chapter. It's a long one, but if I'm sticking with my three-POV chapter sets, I had to do it all in one. So, sorry so long, but I hope you enjoy it!

_What in the Maker’s name is wrong with you?_

Cullen leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. His quill lay on the floor in front of the desk right where it had landed when he threw it down five minutes ago.

The more he replayed the words in his head, the worse they sounded to him. Of course she’d been upset. He would have been upset as well if someone had said that about his home - his family. He’d been careless with his words and said something entirely opposite of what he really meant, and now she wouldn’t even look at him.

The remainder of the meeting had been a quick succession of feeling helpless, chastised, angry at himself and then helpless again. He’d watched her stiff, exhausted form walk away from the table, and it had taken all his willpower and Josephine’s request to speak with him to prevent him from running after her. As if on cue, the ambassador’s soft, richly accented voice called to him from outside his tent.

“Cullen? May I come in?”

He stood quickly, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. “Of course! Please come in, Josephine.

He tried to remember if she’d ever even been in his makeshift office before and looked around hastily. Papers and books were piled up around his desk, and the trunks of supplies they’d stored in his tent in the aftermath of the Conclave left nothing more than a narrow path down the middle of the large space. It suited him fine, but he doubted Josephine would appreciate the practicality of the situation.

She slid under the tent flap, an indecipherable expression on her face as usual, and every muscle in his body seized with tension. Then she smiled, lifting her hand to quiet the words he hadn’t even spoken. As much as he hated it - as much as he tried to keep his emotions from his face - he knew his expressions betrayed his feelings to Josephine and Leliana most of the time. Thank the Maker they had yet to notice his immature and ill-advised infatuation with their Herald.

“No need to worry,” Josephine quickly assured him. “The Herald is extremely tired and will be spending this afternoon resting from her journey. However, she asked me to let you know that she would like to speak with you later this evening if you are available.”

Cullen was instantly on guard. “To let me apologize for being an ass or to let me know she plans to never speak to me again?”

Josephine laughed. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Cullen. It doesn’t suit you. All is forgiven, though an apology would likely go a long way toward restoring your previous… er... relationship with the Herald.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed at her final statement - and the slight emphasis she’d given the word “relationship.” Still standing, he leaned forward to place his hands on his desk and strove to keep a blush from rising to his cheeks. _Is she implying something? Have they noticed after all?_ Her eyes revealed nothing, but she seemed to be waiting… for what? He wouldn’t ask. He already knew that wouldn’t turn out well for him. He schooled his features into passivity, and instead of suspicious, he decided to be grateful.

“Thank you, again, Josephine. I mucked this up quite royally.”

“Actually, she was more concerned that I’d been too hard on you. I told her you’d be harder on yourself than I ever could be. You would be your own worst punishment.”

Cullen grunted in vague surprise. “Then… she isn’t angry?”

Josephine’s features contorted slightly. “Oh no, she is… well… was definitely angry.”

Cullen sighed and sat down heavily, leaning his head back and closing his eyes briefly. “Maker’s breath.”

“It will be alright, Commander.” She paused, and when he looked at her again, a thoughtful expression filled her eyes. “Despite your obvious differences, she seems to have… something of a soft spot for you. Don’t take it for granted.”

He swallowed hard and looked away from Josephine as he lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck. Maker, he wished he could break that habit. His brain raced with a thousand questions - _how did Josephine know? what had the Herald said? what did that even mean?_ \- but he didn’t dare ask any of them.

“I… I won’t.”

Josephine only hummed at him suspiciously. After a moment, she turned to exit, speaking brusquely over her shoulder as she ducked under the tent flap.

“I imagine she will be asleep for most of the afternoon, so I would find something to occupy my mind if I were you. Goodbye, Commander.”

Lost in thought, Cullen didn’t register her exit until long after she’d left. When he finally roused himself from his musings, the piles of reports still waiting for his review caught his attention. He sighed, retrieved his quill from the floor and settled in for the rest of the afternoon. He then met with his Lieutenants, addressed Harritt’s concerns with a supply shortage, led afternoon exercises and otherwise kept himself busy, just as the ambassador had suggested.

As he watched the troops perform a final round of training exercises that afternoon, he looked up from a requisition request to see the Herald walking out of the gates. She wore a long, deep blue woolen coat that he hadn’t seen before along with her standard hat and gloves. The hat rested further back on her head, and the front tendrils of her silvery white hair framed her face like a gauzy halo. His breath caught in his throat even as he grumbled at himself for his lack of professionalism.

Without looking in his direction, she turned away and headed toward Harritt’s. He forced his eyes away from her retreating form to in order finish reading the requisition. As soon as he signed and handed the parchment back to the waiting runner, his eyes immediately - and without his permission - searched for her again. He looked up in time to see Harritt walking out of the smith’s shop with her trailing just behind him. Their purpose became clear when Cullen spied the wrapped package under Harritt’s arm.

Harritt waved at the Commander and beckoned him to join them. The Herald’s eyes focused intently downward as they walked toward each other. They met halfway between the practice area and the smith shop, and his heart to plummeted as he observed her stiff posture and uncomfortable expression. Cullen determined Josephine must have been mistaken about everything and internally cursed his stupidity once again. Harritt, perhaps sensing a bit of tension, got things started.

“Commander, I know you’ve been waiting some time for this, but I wanted the Herald to be here when you see what a beauty we created for you.”

Cullen saw Harritt’s wink as the smith handed him the sword, so he played along. “We?”

Finally, she lifted her eyes to his briefly before letting them fall to the area around his neck. “Well, Harritt did all the hard work. I just made the grip. It’s really nothing.”

“Awww now!” Harritt exclaimed. “Don’t believe a word of it. She spent hours perfecting it, and it’s one of the most beautiful creations I’ve ever seen.”

As Harritt spoke, Cullen unwrapped the sword. Several lengths of wool later, his jaw dropped at the glinting steel and silverite masterpiece he held in his hands. The blade gleamed sharp and true, and the hilt bore the rays of the Inquisition sunburst radiating out around the eye-shaped center. Then, holding the sword by the pommel and the flat of the blade, he raised it to examine the grip. It was like nothing he’d ever seen.

“What are these markings?”

She seemed surprised, as if he had interrupted her thoughts. “I - um - the embossing you mean? Or the weaving?”

Cullen looked more closely at the grip. “Ahhh, yes... Well… both, I suppose.”

She moved closer to his side to have better access to the sword, and suddenly, Cullen became distractingly aware of her proximity. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to move closer, but he firmly planted himself instead. She looked down at the grip and leaned in a little closer, pointing to the intricate markings.

“Well, these embossings are specifically designed to help a soldier wearing armor - see here… and here. Gloves can sometimes be a hinderance between a warrior and his or her weapon, but the edges of these embossed grooves make it an advantage instead.”

She looked up at him, effectively catching him as he stared at her instead of the grip. Any words he might have said fizzled and stuck in his throat. He could only think of how close she was, how their faces were mere inches apart. Despite his best efforts to regain control over himself, his gaze flicked to her lips, to the dark line of her vallaslin that cut through her plump bottom lip, and then, guiltily, back to her eyes again. Her cheeks tinged pink as she looked back down at the grip and continued.

He forced himself to focus on her words as he turned to gaze at the grip. It really was an amazing piece of crafting.

“And the weaving is designed to create a contoured but firm surface. It gives your palm a center for precise maneuvering. It’s a bit elvish. I’m sorry for that. I know Cassandra wanted it to be a symbol of the Inquisition forces.”

Cullen shook his head immediately. “No, please, don’t apologize. It’s perfect. I shall bear this proudly for both the Inquisition and for our Dalish Herald of Andraste.”

She looked mildly uncomfortable and stepped away from him then, but a small smile lingered on her lips. Cullen reached around the grip and swung the sword with practiced ease. The blade sliced through the air, reacting precisely to his maneuvering. He noted with pleasure the perfect balance of the weapon as well as all the details she had pointed out. He marveled again at the complexity of the small elven woman standing next to him.

Suddenly, he swiveled around to find Cassandra at her usual spot by the practice dummies. When he caught her gaze at the far end of the practice field, he held the sword aloft.

“For the Inquisition!” he shouted.

All around them, a raucous cheer went up, and he could hear Cassandra’s laughter over it all. He turned back around to see Harritt grinning from ear to ear.

“Thank you, Harritt. It is an amazing piece of work.” Then catching the gaze of the petite elf next to him, he said in a lower voice. “And thank you, Herald. It’s much more than I deserve.”

He held her gaze for a moment to put meaning behind his words. He willed her to understand. She seemed breathless when she spoke next.

“I’m going to be walking later this evening...”

Her voice trailed off, and her eyes finally dropped, again looking at anything but him. Cullen ordered himself to be brave, to take the opening she’d so obviously left him.

“I must finish up with the troops, but I was thinking of a walk to clear my head as well. Perhaps we could… walk together?”

A look of relief passed over her face. “Yes, of course, Commander. I will … I will speak with you later, then.”

She darted away before he could respond. As he watched her move up the hill and disappear through the gates, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Harritt smiling at him, a strangely distant look in his eyes.

"Between closing rifts, fighting demons and saving the world, she still has time for the little things in life.” Harritt’s voice softened as he looked off in the direction she had gone. “She’s a special creature, that one, even if she is a mage. You could learn thing or two from her if you'd take the time.”

Cullen sighed heavily at the mild accusation in Harritt’s gruff tone, but he couldn’t disagree. She’d certainly captured his attention from the start, and he already felt his views and mind expanding from simply knowing her better. But they had a Breach to close and a war to avert. Cullen didn’t bother to hide his frustration, nor the bitterness in his voice as he responded.

“If my dedication to the Inquisition and avoidance of those little things means the difference between winning or losing this war, isn’t that worth it in the end? Isn’t saving all those lives - saving _her_ life - worth the sacrifice?”

Harritt looked at him long and hard, then finally grunted. “I guess that’s why you’re the Commander. You’re the one willing to make that sacrifice, eh? Although I’d hate to see her unhappy...”

“What do I have do with her happiness?”

Harritt muttered something indecipherable under his breath, and then added in a louder voice, “Then what about _your_ happiness after all this mess is over?”

“If we somehow survive this, I suppose I'll find other work somewhere. There are always armies to lead. But honestly, I haven't really thought about the after. If the reports are to be believed, we've only just begun this fight.”

Harritt snorted, and Cullen realized the man was actually laughing. Finally, the smith calmed down enough to speak.

“That’s not happiness, my boy. That’s just getting by.” He patted Cullen on the shoulder again before speaking more seriously. “Life is the stuff that happens in between the big battles, and here you are wasting the time you’ve got waiting for the battles to stop coming. Take it from someone who knows - grab your chance at happiness whenever you see it. Besides, whether you like it or not, she needs you _now_ , not later.”

The smith gave a final shake of his head, muttering something about Cullen’s thick skull before heading back to the smithy.

 _She needs me? What could she possibly need from me that she couldn’t get from anyone else - that wouldn’t be more appropriate from someone else?_ Cullen’s gut clenched. He could be her advisor and possibly a friend, but he could do no more than that. It wouldn’t be helpful or appropriate. They had a Breach to close, and what could he offer her anyway, as broken as he was? No, she deserved better.

Cullen stood looking at the sword for a moment more before slowly walking back to the practice area. The earlier excitement hadn’t quite died down, yet, and most of the troops gathered around as he passed by to catch a glimpse of his new weapon. Cassandra waited for him at his tent, and she held out her hand as soon as he came into view.

“I commissioned it. I at least want to hold it.”

He laughed, glad for the distraction, and handed her the sword. Cassandra grunted approvingly as she swung it from side to side, lunging and thrusting to test the weight and balance. Finally, she handed it back to him.

“It is truly a thing of beauty. The hilt is especially nice with the Inquisition sunburst, and the design of the grip looks...“ she paused and looked up at him curiously. “Elven?”

Suddenly, the distraction didn’t seem as important anymore. Cullen looked at the sun quickly sinking in the sky and knew that he needed to get started now if he were going to finish even a fraction of what needed to be done before the Herald wished to take her walk.

“You’ll need to ask the Herald. She made it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must make sure everything is in order on our end for your journey tomorrow. I’m sure you have things to do as well.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more about the sword. “It is true. Good evening, Commander.”

Cullen nodded and entered his tent, closing the flap to indicate he should not be disturbed unless it required immediate attention.

 

**

 

Darkness had fallen over Haven by the time Cullen finally looked up from his work, light from his candles the only illumination in the large tent. It took him a few moments to recognize the lateness of the hour. He immediately became concerned. Had she meant for him to come find her? Standing from his desk, he stretched, softly groaning at his stiff muscles. He definitely needed a walk, regardless, so he grabbed his mantle and headed toward Haven and the Herald’s quarters.

As he approached, he could see a fire in the fireplace through the small window, but no candles were lit. Perhaps she had already gone out walking? Just in case, he knocked softly on her door, the beat of his gloved hands turning to dull thuds on the heavy wooden door. After a moment, he heard a muffled exclamation through the door, and it opened to reveal a mussed-haired, mildly panicked Herald. As she stared up at him groggily, a becoming blush overspread her pale cheeks. He was utterly enchanted. And he realized a moment too late that he was staring.

“Oh! Commander! I seem to have fallen asleep… again. I… please come in. I’ll only be a moment.”

Cullen awkwardly stepped into the cozy cabin and closed the door behind him as she walked to the back table to retrieve her outerwear. Avoiding his gaze, she moved into the front room once more and began pulling on her gloves and coat. His hand rubbed the back of his neck as he apologized.

“I’m sorry, Your Worship. If I’d have known… I’m sorry to have wakened you.”

She finally looked up at him, her face half in shadow and half dimly lit by the fire at the back of the room, fingers hovering on the middle button of her coat. “May I… make a request?”

“Anything,” he said in a rush.

She gave a small, embarrassed laughed. “Um… I wish you wouldn’t… please don’t feel the need to always apologize for… things that aren’t necessarily anyone’s fault. It makes me feel as if you all walk around on eggshells because of me, and I’ve never liked that feeling.” She glanced away and cleared her throat. “I mean, if you really are being an idiot, that’s a different story - but otherwise...”

“Of course, Herald. I’m s- that is, I’ll try to do better. It is somewhat in my nature to be overly apologetic in these… situations, so it will be an exercise for us both.”

She gave him his first genuine smile since that morning and finished buttoning her coat. She then moved to stand directly in front of him. Her voice turned soft and hesitant, but she gazed at him steadily as she spoke.

“I have another request. I was wondering - would you mind not always addressing me so formally?”

Cullen looked at her doubtfully. “I… don’t know. You mean…?”

“Not calling me ‘Herald’ or ‘Your Worship’ - or anything like that, really. Just when we’re alone. Like this.”

Cullen’s breath hitched in his throat as it suddenly hit him. They were in her quarters, totally alone. _With no one to interrupt them._ He cursed himself internally at the inappropriate direction of his thoughts.

“What would you like me to call you?”

The question came out uneven and a bit hoarse. Thank the Maker she didn’t seem to notice and continued looking at him, a wry grin now on her face.

“Well, I’d prefer Evana. It is my given name after all.”

“Evana.”

He knew it. She’d signed her letter with her full name, and he’d heard her say it before, when they’d first met, but he’d never said it out loud himself. It rolled off his tongue in a sensual way he couldn’t describe. _This could be dangerous. Better try for something else instead._

“Perhaps a compromise? How about ‘Lady Lavellan,’ or just ‘my lady’?”

She sighed. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t go for it. But your suggestions are far superior to these strange titles I’ve no right to claim. ‘Lady’ isn’t really accurate, either, but at least I could aspire to that one.”

She took a deep breath and licked her lips. He forced himself to ignore the way his heart rate increased at the sight.

“Now, one final request. Even if you won’t call me Evana, will you allow me to call you Cullen?”

Despite being an obvious, natural progression of their conversation, the request caught him off guard. Such a thing felt dangerous to his peace of mind - to hear her voice speak his name, the syllables passing over lips that haunted his thoughts. But he couldn’t bear to disappoint her again. Despite the unsurety between them, he decided to risk a lopsided grin and a small joke.

“Of course… just not within earshot of any of my soldiers. The results could be disastrous.”

To his amazement and delight, she laughed softly as she turned to open the door and responded in kind. “Soldiers running around willy-nilly with no respect for their Commander’s authority! Creators and Andraste preserve us!”

He joined in her quiet laughter but then tilted his head quizzically as he followed her into the silvery, moonlit landscape. “Andraste?”

“Well, I thought I might try cursing in Andrastian. It does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Perhaps I’ve been spending too much time with Varric.”

He let a snort of laughter be his answer. A comfortable silence settled between them, and he found himself believing once again in Josephine’s assurances. They walked past the tents, skirted the lake and finally found the same path they had tread together all those weeks ago. He’d never before experienced the kind of quiet calm he felt in her presence. Relief washed over him as he considered the teasing tone of her voice and her soft smile this evening. Things seemed… almost normal - as if his earlier blunder had never happened.

Still, he wanted to speak, to apologize. He needed to.

“Lady Lavellan, I know you asked me not to apologize so much, but I really feel I must-”

Her gloved fingers reached out to lightly graze his armored upper arm, and she looked at him, shaking her head. She gestured up and around them, as if encouraging him to enjoy the moment. He nodded absently as he watched her hand drop away. Shaking himself from the brief mental stupor, he bent his focus on anything but the slender figure beside him, and after a while, it seemed to work. The light of dusk had faded completely, and one full moon bathed the forest in bright, silver light. New snow from a recent cold snap reflected the light upward to illuminate what otherwise would have been simply dim treeline, and he saw foxes and other small nocturnal animals darting through the underbrush. It was such a calming feeling to be walking there with her with no pressure to speak or to be anything he wasn’t. Even his nervousness at being alone with her began to fade - a little bit.

He glanced over at her occasionally, allowing himself only a few moments at a time to drink in the lovely effect of moonlight on her pale skin before looking away again. With her silvery hair and small, delicately pointed ears, she reminded him of an elven goddess he’d seen in a book at the Ferelden Circle more than ten years ago now. He’d been reading it to try to understand more about elven culture - or that’s what he’d told himself anyway. Now he knew better. He’d been trying to impress a woman, and he’d earned one stolen kiss and years of torment for it.

_That’s what comes of getting involved. It must not happen again!_

And yet, his eyes gravitated to her again and again as they walked the snowy path. Finally, she directed them up a hill to the left, and the way became difficult. He reached for her more than once as she sank into heavy drifts around tree trunks, but her lithe and nimble form always managed to recover before he got there, leaving his fingers itching with a desire he refused to name.

They reached the top of what turned out to be a small ridge, and he could see Haven in the distance to their left, bathed in the sickly green light of the Breach that stretched across the sky. They stood side by side in silence for some time before she finally began to speak.

“When I was five years old, my mother grew tired of my tendency to take apart her nice things in order to craft new and ‘better’ things, so she presented me to our crafter, Vash’an. It was rare to be apprenticed so young, but I think Vash’an felt sorry for Mother having to raise such a troublesome, willful child... so he took me under his wing and taught me everything he knew about crafting. I apprenticed under him for seven years, even after my magic manifested. I tried to hide it, but when my magic became known, Keeper Deshanna began training me. I spent less time with Vash’an. Finally, at 14, Deshanna officially made me the clan’s Second.”

She turned her head to give him a wane smile and seemed to noticed his confused expression. “We already had a First, you see... His name was Hanir.”

The way she said the name - softly, almost reverently - made Cullen’s gut twist. He forced himself to focus on her words.

“As the Second, I was expected to devote my time to learning elven lore and practicing the ancient magics with Deshanna and Hanir. We would practice for hours, Hanir berating me the whole time because I wasn’t as good as he thought I should be.” She smiled ruefully at the memory. “We spent almost all our time together, though I visited Vash’an when I could. At 18, when I had to choose my vallaslin - my tattoos,” she explained with a gesture to her face, “I chose a design representing June, our God of craft. Hanir was livid, saying it wasn’t appropriate, but Deshanna just tattooed these thick lines without saying a word.”

Her finger traced down her cheek where she obviously knew the ink to be. She sighed and gave another wane smile.

“After the ceremony, Hanir took me aside and told me, now that I was of age, he wanted to us to be bondmates - errr, what you Chantry folk call married, I guess?”

Cullen saw her look to him for assent, and he could only nod. He drew on all his willpower to keep his face neutral and his breathing even. _Maker’s breath… was she_ married _?_

“I was surprised. He’d never seemed all that… interested in me. But he was all I’d ever known, and though I didn’t think I loved him, I respected him. He and Keeper Deshanna had taught me everything I knew about magic and elven history. And I was never very close to anyone else - my personality combined with apprenticing so young kept me too busy to form any other real attachments. I couldn’t think of a reason to deny him... so he completed his quest, and we were bonded with Deshanna’s approval.”

Cullen’s chest constricted, making it difficult to breath. Shame and anger coursed through him for even having such a reaction. Of course she was married. A woman as amazingly intelligent, talented and beautiful as she? How could he have allowed himself to get this far without even questioning whether she were single? But stronger realization interrupted his self-deprecating thoughts. She spoke of him in the past tense. And Keeper Deshanna, not Hanir, had been the name on the letter inquiring after her First, Evana Lavellan...

A sudden sense of foreboding overcame him. She spoke again, and he focused on the calmness in her tone. He could not betray himself, especially not now.

“For a couple of years, we were... happy... in our way.”

Cullen noticed her hesitancy at calling the relationship happy, but he was in no position to ask… and so he continued to listen in silence.

“Hanir was mostly kind, but a taskmaster when it came to our duties as First and Second of the clan. I wished to explore more lore outside the elven canon. I thought that there must be so much history we didn’t know about. Things written from the perspective of outsiders such as humans and dwarves. So, I secretly began trading with some merchants at the edge of the forest. I would craft an item for them every so often, and they would provide me with books on elven culture from all over.” She shook her head. “So stupid.”

Cullen braced himself. She was clearly telling him this story for a reason. He suspected that reason had nothing to do with her childhood history and everything to do with her reaction to his suggestion around the war table today. He could see now that she was merely setting the stage for what came next. After another moment of silence, she continued.

“One day, as I approached the merchant’s wagon, I noticed group of bandits just over the ridge. I tried to wave to the merchants to run, but they didn’t understand. The bandits crested the hill, and seeing a wagon of goods for the taking, ran toward it with weapons drawn. I panicked and threw up an ice wall between the bandits and merchants. After subduing the bandits with a few electric shocks, I turned to speak with the merchants, but they were already gone. I went back to the clan, determined to keep my secret, but Hanir knew from my demeanor that something was wrong. He made me tell him.”

She let out a bitter laugh, as if she were living the whole thing over again, and closed her eyes while lifting her face to the sky. “Creators! He was _so_ angry! I can still see the fury in his eyes. He immediately told Deshanna, and before the end of the day, our clan had packed up and started to move.” Another deep breath. “I didn’t understand it then, but when the templars caught up with us two weeks later, everything became abundantly clear.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. _Templars_. But she wasn’t finished.

“Our clan had the strategic advantage with higher ground and defended itself well, but unfortunately, we didn’t notice a small group of three templars break off and flank us. Deshanna and I ran to avoid their tempering effects on our magic, but... Hanir was too close. A templar silenced him - all his magic gone in one stroke. He struggled weakly, but before any of us could react, a templar yanked him from where he’d fallen and slit his throat.”

She inhaled sharply and paused again, clearly struggling for composure. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. A sense of complete helplessness washed over him as he watched her try… and fail to maintain her calm.

“Just like that, he was gone... and it was all _my fault_.” Her voice trembled, and the tears overflowed to stream down her face. A hoarse whisper ripped from her throat as the full deluge hit. "Creators… So much _blood_.”

Without giving himself time to think, Cullen took a step toward her and put his hands on her upper arms, rubbing them up and down in a sad attempt to comfort her as she sobbed. She leaned into him, her forehead gently touching his breastplate, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle.

He nearly gave in to the overwhelming urge to fully wrap his arms around her but managed to stop himself. Maker, he was such a fool. The irony of an ex-templar comforting a mage for the death of her lover _at the hands of templars_ was not lost on him. He stood there lightly caressing her upper arms until he heard the sobs fade into occasional sniffles. After another moment, she  straightened and quickly walked away from him, reaching into her pocket for a handkerchief to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.

“I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t realize how much I needed to do that. It’s strange… I’ve never cried about it before. But lately… I seem to be having trouble…”

She trailed off, and he shook his head vehemently. “You have no reason to apologize, Her- my lady. Those were _not_ honorable templars.”

She laughed dryly and turned her teary eyes on him, then sniffed. “No, they weren’t.” She walked back toward him, her tear-stained face filled with a kind of accepting sadness. “When all was said and done, twelve clan members died that day, including Hanir, all because I had been careless.” Stopping in front of him again, she sighed and briefly glanced up at him before focusing her eyes on his chestplate. “That was five years ago. You’d think I’d be over it by now.”

“You lost your love to people like me,” he countered. “That’s not something you simply forget.”

Her brow furrowed deeply, and she shook her head. “They weren’t like you. Although it may have been their orders, those templars had no intention of taking us back to live in the Circle. They were there to kill us.” She paused, and her voice took on a quiet, deadly tone. “Well… perhaps they would have _tried_ to take _me_ , but you can damn well believe I would have killed myself before any of them could _have_ me.”

He inhaled sharply at her insinuation, surprised in spite of himself. He knew abuses happened, but for her to so casually expect it…

“Then you believe they would have…?”

He couldn’t finish the thought, but she understood. She turned her face up to the moonlight once more.

“Our experience with templars has taught us that’s the way of things. Did you really not see such things in your time with the templars? Did you think they only hunted _mages_ when they traveled close to our camps? So many of our young girls… their innocence taken and often their lives as well. You said it yourself - they were not honorable templars.” Her eyes shifted to his face, and she smiled at him weakly. “But that’s why I say they were not like you. We may disagree on whether mages should be free, but I know you wouldn’t… harm anyone just because you have the power to get away with it. You told me yourself that you chose the templar life so you could protect people. I believe that about you - no matter what our differences may be. I have seen the truth of it in the way you speak and act.”

Cullen was touched by her assertions of his character. Remembering his past, however…

“I wish I had the same confidence in myself,” he admitted gruffly. Anger tinged his voice as he continued. “Templars are supposed to protect from the dangers of magic, not cause pain and suffering. But... I’ve also seen first-hand the suffering magic can inflict. I’ve treated mages with distrust because of it - at times without cause.” His face fell into a determined, serious expression. “That was unworthy of me. I will try not to do so here.”

She smiled at him and nodded, and after a few moments, she turned to walk back down the hill. He followed. Once they were on stable ground, she spoke again.

“So you’d say you’re cautiously optimistic about mages?”

He could see the twinkle in her eye and recognized the attempt to lighten the mood, but he could only be honest with her. “I don’t think mages should be allowed walk around completely unchecked. We still need safeguards in place to protect people - including mages themselves - from possession at the least.”

She tensed up defensively at the beginning, but as he continued to speak, especially about protecting mages, she relaxed a bit. “I think I understand what you mean, though I can’t say I fully agree with you. I’d like to learn more about your perspective.” She looked at him with sincerity written across her features. “I value your opinion and experiences, Cullen. I’ve had little experience with Circles or even with mages outside the Dalish ways.”

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. They disagreed, but perhaps the gulf wasn’t quite as wide as he’d thought. He met her olive branch with one of his own.

“I admit that my view on mages has evolved greatly over time, and I doubt that this one is yet set in stone. I imagine your perspective could help me better understand the needs of mages as well.”

She grinned at him, and he knew he had to get it out before she could stop him again.

“I am truly sorry for your loss, my lady. And I’m even more sorry-” he held up his hand when he saw her about to protest. “I’m taking my cue from that part where I get to apologize for being an idiot, remember?”

Her eyebrow cocked in amusement, but she remained silent.

“I never meant to come off as threatening to your clan. I merely wanted to show them that you are now part of a powerful organization which has the person-power and wherewithal to protect you. I see now how that would have been a disaster. I am truly sorry for speaking without thinking, for bringing up such painful memories for you and for giving you plain bad advice. As we continue to get to know each other, I hope to do better.”

Her voice trembled slightly as she stopped and stuck her hand out to him. “Friends, then?”

“Friends,” he said firmly as he took her hand in his own.

“Who’d have thought? A mage and a templar.”

His face broke into a lopsided grin as they shook hands. “Indeed.”

As her gloved hand slipped from his, he felt his chest constrict again, this time with an overwhelming sense of protectiveness. _As an advisor and a friend_ , he assured himself. He ignored the vague disappointment at the loss of her touch.

They walked the rest of the way back to Haven in silence. Cullen walked her to her door and was about to turn away when she spoke again, a wry grin on her face.

“I’ll do my best with the Chantry folk in Val Royeaux, but don’t be surprised if they scorn a Dalish mage with heretical tendencies.”

Cullen let out a short bark of laughter. “If they do, don’t take it personally. I have a feeling it wouldn’t matter who you are. The result, whatever it is, would be the same. Regardless, I wish you luck. I will be up to see you off in the morning as usual.” He saluted with their traditional short bow, hand to his chest. “Goodnight, my lady.”

She returned the gesture. “Goodnight, Cullen.”

He smiled all the way back to his tent, through several more hours of paperwork and went to sleep still smiling, thinking how much he liked hearing her say his name.

Yes, this was definitely dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had some extra time to write this week, so the next chapter should be out very soon.


	10. In which denial is her only recourse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evana finally has enough of the Chantry... but she just can't stay mad at a certain ex-templar.

Even now, days after their run in with the Lord Seeker, rage boiled under Evana's skin. They were nearly back at Haven after almost two weeks away, and if it weren’t for an invitation from Grand Enchanter Fiona to speak about an alliance with the rebel mages and the addition of a somewhat dubious elf recruit, she would have absolutely _nothing_ to show for her time away.

Her companions shared her foul mood and had remained quiet since their dismissal by both the Chantry and the templars in the courtyard at Val Royeaux. Cassandra had pleaded. Evana had cajoled. All to no avail.

Well, she would not go begging where she wasn’t wanted. The Chantry and the templars didn’t want her? Fine. She would head to Redcliffe and make a deal with the rebel mages to help close the Breach.

“Varric!” she yelled.

“Yes, Snowflake?” Varric replied softly from the horse next to hers. “I’m right here.”

“I’m going to need a drink after the war council meeting that will inevitably convene when we arrive. Meet me at the tavern?”

Varric caught her eye and smirked. “I thought you’d never ask.”

She fought it but couldn’t help a wry smile in spite of herself. Varric’s pointed joking still made her wildly uncomfortable sometimes, but she'd become fond of the sarcastic storyteller in the last few weeks. It still surprised her that any of them actually wanted to be friends with _her_ , but Varric positively went out of his way to ensure it. She supposed it had more to do with her mark than any real fondness for her personally, but she found she very much wanted to be his friend.

A small flush rose to her cheeks at the thought of another friend waiting for her in Haven, which was followed quickly by a deeper flush of embarrassment at her own reaction to merely thinking of him. _We’re just friends. Nothing more… despite what Varric might say._

They finally rode into Haven around midday. Evana carefully pulled off her saddlebags, which were full of dried leaves and herbs, before leaving her horse with the stablehand. The only other good part of the trip had been finding the final ingredients for some of her favorite teas. One ingredient for her energy tea - a wild root only found deep in the forests of the Free Marches - still proved elusive, but she had everything she needed for calming and pain relieving teas. Based on her previous journeys into Ferelden, she had a feeling she would be needing them soon.

“We should head to the Chantry,” Cassandra advised. “I imagine the others are already waiting for us there.”

Varric winked before taking off toward the Singing Maiden with Solas. “I’ll be waiting for you in the tavern, Snowflake.”

“Alright. I just need to stop by my quarters to drop off my bags.” 

When they reached the Chantry, the advisors met them in the hall. Josephine spoke first.

“It’s good you’ve returned. Leliana’s scouts told us of your encounter.”

Cullen shook his head sadly. “It’s a shame the templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital.”

Despite how hard she tried to tamp it down, the anger crept into voice. “The Chantry is dealt with at least. Now we have options for allies.”

 _And I know who I’d go with_ , she thought bitterly.

Cassandra shook her head. “Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.”

“He seems to have taken the Order somewhere, but to do what? My reports have been very odd,” Leliana mused.

“We _must_ look into it,” Cullen replied forcefully. “I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker.”

“Or the Herald could simply go to meet with the mages in Redcliffe instead,” Josephine offered.

With Cassandra and Cullen leading the conversation, Evana was not surprised the talks had turned toward recruiting the templars. She _was_ surprised, however, that Josephine spoke up for recruiting the mages. Had she anticipated Evana’s preference? Perhaps. She and Josephine had not yet been able to begin their lessons, but Evana was sure Josephine could read her current displeasure.

“You think the mage rebellion is more united?” Cullen said incredulously. “It could be ten times worse! Although the Lord Seeker’s actions are a mystery, the templars _will_ aid us. They cannot sit idle while the Breach remains.”

Cullen’s voice held a tinge of belligerent condescension Evana found infuriating, and she responded in kind. “I could at least find out what the mages want!”

Cassandra’s voice dripped with derision. “No doubt what they’ve always wanted, support for their cause.”

“We shouldn’t discount Redcliffe,” Josephine reminded them with one of her soft, diplomatic answers. “The mages may be worth the risk.”

“They are powerful, Ambassador,” Cassandra relented, “but more powerful than you realize.”

 _Thank the Creators for Josephine_ , Evana thought - then briefly wondered how many times a day each of them thought that. “So it will be dangerous. Might I remind you… I’ve been in danger since I walked out of the Fade.”

Cassandra wasn’t giving up. “If some among the rebel mages were responsible for what happened at the Conclave-”

“The same could be said about the templars,” Josephine quickly countered.

Evana shook her head. This was getting them nowhere. She appreciated, however, that Josephine fought for the mages. She should remember to get the Ambassador a nice gift - maybe a packet of her energy tea once she found the last ingredient? Or maybe just a pain relieving tea for the headache Josephine would have after dealing with all of them and their petty squabbling. Despite Josephine’s efforts, Cullen brought the conversation back around the templars.

“True enough. In any case, I’m not certain we have enough influence to approach the Order safely.”

“Then the Inquisition needs agents in more places. That’s something you can help with,” Cassandra replied.

Josephine shot a significant look at Evana. “In the meantime, we should consider _other_ options.”

The conversation seemed over for now, so Evana let it drop. As things stood, she had no real voice in the matter, anyway. The other four were the leaders here. She just closed rifts and did the fieldwork for them. Speaking of which…

“Have we heard back about the troops in the Fallow Mire, Josephine?” she asked in as neutral a tone as possible.

For once, Josephine’s face betrayed her - a look of relief passed over her features at the change of topic. The ambassador motioned them to follow her into the war room, and Evana prepared herself for what was to come.

 

**

 

Evana sat by the fire on a small, two-person bench with a tall back and sides. She typically liked to curl up as close to the fire as possible, so Varric had moved the bench from the wall and around to be perpendicular to the fireplace. They were now sitting together, facing each other from opposite corners of the same bench. She sat on the side closest to the fire holding her knees to her chest as her feet rested in front of her on the bench. Varric leaned back with one leg on the seat and one leg dangling off the side. He raised his mug with dramatic flair.

“To the Fallow Mire!”

Most people around them, who had merely stopped in at the tavern for a late lunch, just looked askance at him and returned to what they were doing. It was a bit early to be drinking, she would admit, but after the conversation in the Chantry hall plus the war room banter, she was in no mood to be questioned. In the back of her mind, she could hear her mother’s voice chastising her for her willful and stubborn nature. She barely suppressed a growl at the thought. Instead, she cocked an eyebrow and raised her glass in return.

“May we return to Haven with a bevy of safely rescued Inquisition soldiers,” she intoned, “and smell as foul as possible so that people will leave us alone for five whole minutes.”

They clinked glasses and both took long swigs. She then heaved a great sigh. 

“I suppose I should eat something before I get sloppy drunk at only three in the afternoon. I should also get to work. I’m supposed to meet Josephine in an hour for our first lesson in ‘how to not give away your every thought by the disdainful sneer on your face.’”

“Then you have an hour, Snowflake. Relax.”

She gave him a wane smile and bowed as well as she could while seated. “Very well, Ser Tethras. You know, you don’t have to go. I could take the new recruit, Sera, instead. She’s a dead shot - literally - with a bow and arrow. It might give you a chance to write down all those things I always see you carefully filing away in your head.”

Varric chuckled. “Not on your life! I wouldn’t miss a dip in the swamps with you for anything.”

Evana couldn’t help the blush that quickly reddened her cheeks. “Varric! Stop that.” 

“Sorry, Snowflake. I’m still working on keeping my mouth under control.”

A deep, familiar voice cut in before she could reply. “That will be the day.”

They both looked up in surprise to see the Commander standing a small distance away, regarding them with smug grin. Evana laughed a little harder than strictly necessary, her cheeks flaming even hotter at the appearance of the Commander. What was she doing? She was still _angry_ at him for being so… templar-y. She really should get something to eat.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll never let up on you, Curly, you can bet on that. But for our Herald, here, I’ll at least make an effort… here and there.”

She looked at the Commander for a response, but his eyes were on her instead of Varric, looking her over with a penetrating stare. After a moment, he seemed to recollect himself, and his right hand reached up to rub the back of his neck.

“I - I came for a late lunch. Can I get you something to eat, Lady Lavellan?”

Varric raised an eyebrow at her, but thankfully said nothing. Would this damn blush ever leave her face again? _Angry. You’re angry at him, remember?_

“Um, yes, perhaps a little something, thank you. I seem to be a little... “  
  
“Tipsy?” Varric offered.

“No!” She glanced at Cullen. “Just hungry. I haven’t eaten since before we broke camp this morning,” she explained.

Cullen nodded and walked off to speak with Flissa. Varric, of course, took the opportunity to pounce.

“Oh, that look he gave you. This is _good_.”

She wouldn’t respond. She tried not to look at Varric, but he caught her eye anyway and winked.

“Don’t worry, Snowflake. I’m just going to observe this development for now. And I’ll try to go easy on you, but this is too good to totally ignore. I knew that letter would work!”

She stared at him, horrified. “You knew _what_!? Varric, how many times do I have to tell you that the Commander and I are… well, we're barely friends?”

Varric let out a noise of disbelief. “Andraste’s tits you are.”

She closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the bench, groaning. “Varric, please. I assure you, he doesn’t think of me like that. I beg you, don’t-”

“Hey, Curly! I’ve got some things to attend to. Would you sit here and keep Snowflake company while you both eat?”

“Varric,” she hissed. “What are you doing?”

He just waggled his eyebrows at her, tipped his mug to drain it and hopped off the bench. Cullen, still standing over at the bar, looked even more uncomfortable than before.

“I, uh-”

“Good!”

Varric then dashed out the door, leaving her and the Commander looking at each other awkwardly across the tavern. But why? They’d been in each other’s company many times before without this level of discomfort. Creators, she’d balled like a baby in front of him during their last conversation. She should be able to handle having an innocent meal in a public place with the Commander.

_And why is it so hard to remember that you’re ANGRY with him? Damn that dwarf and his meddling!_

After a moment, Flissa placed some plates of bread, fruit, meat and cheese in front of the Commander, and he returned to the bench by the fire. For a moment, he seemed unsure, so despite her own discomfort, she took pity on him and moved her feet off the bench to allow him room to sit. He still hesitated, but then, spying a small table against the wall, he handed her a plate and dragged the table over in front of the bench. He then paused another moment before gently easing himself into the space recently vacated by the dwarf.

She knew, of course, that he was a tall and muscular man, but she hadn’t realized before just how large he truly was. The two-person bench suddenly seemed much smaller, and Cullen’s face turned bright red.

“I’m s-” He stopped, then started again. “That is, do you have enough room, my lady? I can pull over another chair-”

She couldn’t help laughing at his almost apology. “I’m fine. And _that_ was a good catch, Cul-” She stopped after seeing a few soldiers at a table not far from them. “I mean, Commander.”

He laughed. “You as well.”

And with that, the discomfort dispersed… mostly. She simply couldn’t stay angry with him. She begrudgingly admitted to herself that it made sense for him to want to reach out to the templars. He wanted to approach them for the same reason she wished to ally with the mages - comfort and familiarity.

They both leaned forward over the table and began to eat. His proximity still intimidated her, but the closeness also made her body hum pleasantly. She refused to think about why. Even if there were an attraction between them, it could never be anything more. She wanted to continue their friendship, though, so she started off with a question that had been bothering her since their conversation in the Chantry.

“Why do you think the templars broke away from the Chantry?”

Cullen seemed equal parts uncomfortable and relieved at her question. “Although I can’t really give you insight into what the Order is doing now, I can tell you that while I was still among them, the Order had come to believe the Chantry no longer supported their efforts - at least not to the extent they should.”

“But the templars have served the Chantry for ages, correct?”

Cullen nodded. “And in that time, they’ve come to take the Order’s services for granted. Templars risk their lives against blood magic, demons, abominations - to feel as if those efforts are dismissed… I may disagree with the Order’s actions - that I’m here is proof of that - but I do sympathize with their frustrations.”

Evana nodded, but she wanted to know more. “What else did templars do? I mean, besides guard Circle mages?”

“Well, before leaving the Chantry, being a templar meant serving in a Circle to protect everyone from the dangers of magic. That also meant, uh, tracking apostates or fighting demons summoned by the weak or malicious.”

Cullen had the graciousness to blush a little when mentioning apostates. But they’d already discussed her experiences with templars as well as his feelings about mages, so she just gave him a small smile and moved on. She wanted to dig deeper. What made templars the way they were? Cullen was her best bet at getting inside the head of a templar.

“The only things I know about circles were passed down to me by Keeper Deshanna. Can you tell me about a typical day for a templar?”

Cullen laughed dryly. “Typical? The last time I was in a Circle was right before it fell apart. Nothing was ‘typical.’”

She reached across her body and gently punched his right arm. Her fist hit his armor with a dull thud.

“Alright, fine. _Before_ that then.”

Cullen chuckled quietly, but then looked thoughtful for a moment. He set down the bread he’d been chewing on and leaned back, staring straight forward. She leaned back as well to study his profile as he spoke.

“Well, certain rituals require a full guard - a mage’s harrowing for instance. I’ve attended a few.”

From the softness in his voice, she could tell he’d fallen into his memories. He remembered himself after a moment and continued on.

“Most of the time you merely maintain a presence - on patrol or in the Circle - ready to respond if needed. Mages typically try to ignore that presence, but we knew they were watching us just as closely as we watched them.”

“Watched? Did you not interact with the mages at all?”

“Most of the time, no - a habit often mistaken for coldness, I’m sure. But we are expected to keep a certain distance from our charges. If a mage is possessed or uses blood magic, you must act quickly and without hesitation. Your judgment cannot be clouded. Lives depend on it. Of course, ignoring one another does nothing to foster understanding.”

She wondered briefly if he had thrown that last bit in just for her benefit, but looking at him now, he seemed barely aware of her presence, lost again in some reverie. No, he’d meant it, but it left her confused. Why would they risk their lives for these things? What bound them so tightly to the Chantry? And how could they leave it behind now with so little trouble?

“What about training? What do you have to do and know to become a templar?”

“There’s weapon and combat training. Even without their abilities, templars are among the best warriors in Thedas. Initiates must also memorize of the Chant of Light, study history, and improve their mental focus.”

“Hmmm. So do templars enjoy their training, or is it just a hurdle on the path? Did you enjoy it?”

Cullen shrugged and reached forward for another slice of meat and cheese. “I don’t know about the others, but I wanted to learn everything. If I was giving my life to this, I would be the best templar I could.”

A half smile touched her lips as she imagined a young and eager Cullen standing in front of his tutors, ready and willing to soak up all they would teach him. It was an endearing image. _That word… again._ She ignored it and moved on.

“You were a model student, then?”

He laughed and finally turned toward her, moving his back as far into the corner of the bench as possible. His legs stretched out toward hers and reminded her how impossibly large and close he was in that moment. She ignored the resulting goosebumps, grateful that her long-sleeved tunic covered her reaction.

“I wanted to be. I wasn’t always successful. Watching a candle burn down while reciting the Chant of Transfigurations wasn’t the most exciting task. I admit, my mind sometimes wandered.”

Her own mind had wandered, and she struggled to think of another question. She had more. She just couldn’t recall them anymore as his honey-gold eyes shone in the firelight, looking at her as if… what? As if she were something he found pleasant to look at? So strange. All her life in the clan, she had been called either average or downright plain. Her ears and eyes were far too small, her cheekbones too undefined, face too flat and nose too pert to be considered an elven beauty. Although still incredibly petite and slender compared to other races, her clanmates had considered her unpleasantly curvy. Even Hanir had never really thought her pretty - or she could only assume so as he'd never commented on her looks one way or another.

Now, here in this new place, she had men and women complimenting her constantly - even Varric had called her beautiful and seemed to actually mean it. And since they had returned from the Hinterlands, much as she tried to ignore it, the Commander occasionally let his eyes linger on her face… especially her mouth. He was doing it now. She must speak. She needed to know why templars were tied to the Chantry, right? _Yes, that’s it._

“Uh, do, um, Templars take vows? ‘I swear to the Maker to watch all the mages’ - that sort of thing.”

His eyes flicked - guiltily? - back to hers. She had distracted him, but she was still caught. She tried to focus on his mouth as he began speaking, but the rather alluring scar on his upper lip distracted her. _Best look at his nose, then. Noses aren’t sexy. Not that I think he’s sexy… or rather, that I would_ say _that I think… Oh… Creators..._

“There’s a vigil first. You’re meant to be at peace during that time, but your life _is_ about to change. When it’s over, you give yourself to a life of service. That’s when you’re given a philter - your first draught of lyrium - and it’s power. As templars, we are not to seek wealth or acknowledgement. Our lives belong to the Maker and the path we have chosen.”

Despite her distraction, she tried to keep up. Her nose crinkled in confusion. Lyrium? Was that the chain that bound them to the Chantry? Did it require special focus or sacrifice from the templars?

“So are templars almost like religious leaders in that way? Expected to give up physical temptations in their life of service and sacrifice to the Maker?”

The look on his face pulled her partly out of her daze. “Physical… why…?” He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Why would you… … … Um, that’s not expected. Templars can marry, though there are rules around it, and the Order must grant permission. Some may choose to give up … _more_ to prove their devotion, but it’s, uh, not required.”

Her mouth opened before her brain could stop her. “Have you?”

Cullen was overtly uncomfortable now, his hand rising to his neck and a blush to his cheeks as he stuttered. “Me? I … um… uh… no. I’ve taken no such vows. And even if I had, I’m no longer with the Order.” He coughed slightly. “Maker’s breath, can we speak of something else?”

Her heart felt like it might pound right out of her chest. Her own face suddenly flushed with embarrassment for him as well as for herself. 

“I’m sorry… I … I don’t know why I asked that! Please forget I ever… err…  that is… That’s all I wanted to know. Goodbye, Commander!”

She stood up and practically ran out of the tavern. She barely registered Solas’ nod as she passed him on her way to throttle Varric. He was, as she suspected, sitting at his camp, cleaning his beloved Bianca.

“Varric! I will _literally kill you_ if you ever do anything like that ever again!”

Varric just chuckled. “That took longer than I thought. Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with Josephine right about now?”

So much for him being afraid of her magical prowess. She glared at him with slitted eyes.

“Now I know why Cassandra has so many noises of disgust. Ninety percent of them are probably directly attributable to _you_!”

She took the longer way around to the Chantry just to avoid any chance of meeting with the Commander, and she could hear Varric’s laughter all the way there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the next chapter set begins! These two dorks will continue to be in denial for quite a while, but we'll be getting into fluffier bits soon (where they swear they're just friends... you know, friends who get irrationally angry at each other [or jealous?], sing to each other, hold each others' hands, etc.).
> 
> Next chapter is from Solas' point of view, and we get our introduction to Dorian! I love writing Dorian... I just love Dorian.


	11. In which two apostates, a Seeker and a smuggler walk into a tavern (un?)invited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas reflects on his time with the Inquisition so far, and the group receives a less than warm welcome in Redcliffe.

As they prepared to leave the region, Solas’ horse pranced nervously outside of the Inquisition camp in the Fallow Mire, occasionally huffing blasts of hot air from it's nostrils. Perhaps it sensed the impatience of its rider. Or perhaps it was merely as eager to be out of the dismal, rainy bog as the rest of them. He reached down to check on the horse's bit and then whispered for it to wait for the others, smoothing his hand down the horse's neck as he spoke.

They had successfully freed the Inquisition soldiers and subdued the Avvar within two days of arriving in the Mire, but the Herald had also suffered what he considered to be her first real injury since stabilizing the Breach. He had only been truly concerned for the few moments it had taken to assess her injuries, but those few moments were enough to give him pause. He was not accustomed to worrying about other people, especially not one so stubborn as the Herald. Even after his basic healing magic, she still required several days of rest before she could ride out of the Mire because of the severity of the bruising. He had spent the time doing extra research on the fascinating runes there in the Mire, but even he grew weary of the constant stench and wet conditions.

They had been up since dawn, and the arguments over their destination - already hashed and rehashed multiple times in the past two days - now came to a head as they prepared to set out. The rain had stopped overnight, but the oppressive gray skies overhead lingered. He judged the sun to be just peeking over the horizon as the clouds lightened slightly. Still, the Herald paced back and forth in front of Cassandra as they discussed whether or not to meet with Grand Enchanter Fiona at Redcliffe.

“But that was the plan, Cassandra,” she argued. “We were to go to the Fallow Mire, then head directly to Redcliffe to speak with the mages. Leliana and Josephine approved it. I know you and Cullen don't agree, but you allowed me to be the tie breaker. I chose to speak with the mages, and every day we delay is another day the beach wreaks havoc on Thedas.”

Cassandra sighed heavily. “Yes. Of course, you are right, but you know this is not about the mages. You are still recovering, and you need time to heal properly before going on any further missions. If anything should go wrong...”

“So we'll pass by Redcliffe on our way back to Haven only to turn around and ride back to Redcliffe a day or two later on the off chance that something might happen? That makes no sense! It’s right on our way. No, we need to stick to the plan. I’ll be fine.”

Cassandra seemed exasperated. He sympathized with the Seeker, but he wasn’t about to get involved unless-

“Solas, what do you think?”

He shouldn’t be surprised that the Seeker would ask his opinion. He was, after all, the one who had healed the Herald’s most egregious wounds. He turned to the two women and regarded them for a moment. The Herald looked tired, her bruised cheek beginning to turn a ghastly greenish color. He could only imagine what the rest of her body looked like…

He shook himself from the thoughts that entered his head, unbidden, and replied, “The Herald certainly needs more rest.”

“Ha!” Cassandra’s exclamation resonated off the stone cliffs around them. 

“However, I also believe she is a strong and capable woman. If she says she is ready, I believe her.”

The protest that was clearly forming on the Herald’s lips instead resolved into a smile. She gave him a grateful nod before turning to Cassandra.

“You see?”

Cassandra let out one of her famous grunts of disgust but also, surprisingly, seemed resigned to her defeat. With a final narrowed look at the Herald, she mounted her horse. The other two did the same, and they set out immediately.

They traveled north the whole day, camped, and then finally rode into the southern-most Hinterlands camp after sundown the following day. The camp in the Fallow Mire had apparently sent a crow ahead, and they were immediately offered food and beds. When the Herald acted as if she would stay with them around the fire after dinner, Solas sat down next to her and spoke quietly.

“Da’len, I sided with you today because I trust your judgment about yourself. However,” he said as he smiled at her in an attempt to take the sting out of his words, “you should rest now. We will awake early tomorrow, and you are still weakened from your injuries.”

She looked as if she might protest, but after a silent moment holding his gaze, she nodded slowly and bid them goodnight.

Cassandra shot him a grateful smile. “Surprisingly, she is rather strong willed. I would not have guessed it when we first met. It is good in many ways, but it can also be detrimental if she allows it.”

Solas nodded. “Strengths can be weaknesses for anyone. One can easily slip from confidence into overconfidence - it is all a matter of our judgment. I think she generally has good judgment about everything except her own well-being. We must be her guardians on that matter.”

Cassandra tilted her head, a confused and slightly irritated expression on her face. “Why then did you side with her this morning?”

Solas thought back to her tired but determined look and shrugged. “I truly believe she has healed sufficiently to meet with and commence talks with the mages. We should all be wary, however, in case something should go wrong.”

“Snowflake has got her work cut out for her, I’ll give her that,” Varric added. “I’ll be the first to admit I’m no fan of templars, but this mage thing seems like a shady deal just waiting to go bad. I mean, only a few weeks ago, we were running around here killing apostate mages. I know you and our Herald are technically apostates, too, but neither of you were part of this destructive rebellion.”

Solas raised his eyebrows slightly. “Perhaps, Varric, that is because neither of us were Circle mages forced to spend our lives as prisoners in often abusive situations with no ability to choose our own path or make our own lives.” He looked to the Herald’s tent at the other end of the camp. “I have a hard time seeing your Snowflake submitting to the harsh whims of the Circle. I once heard her say she would kill herself before allowing templars to take her there.”

Varric and Cassandra sat in stunned silence. He almost wished he hadn’t mentioned the partial conversation he’d overheard between the Herald and the Commander. He had not meant to eavesdrop, having purposefully taken a route he had not seen either of them take before. But regardless of his own intentions, they climbed the ridge and stood on the cliff’s edge, just upwind of the outcropping he had chosen for his evening walk into the Fade. He’d only heard bits and pieces of the conversation, but it was enough to realize that the Commander knew the Herald far better than anyone else in their party. Although she behaved with them as a friend might, she still emotionally distanced herself from them all. Everyone, it seemed, except the Commander.

Despite her initial friendly behavior, he and the Herald had talked of little more than elven lore, the Fade and magic since their first journey to the Hinterlands. While practicing magic, they often didn’t speak in anything but instructions. Then came the day she’d received the letter from the Commander. Her comments were innocuous, but her tone…

Solas admitted to himself that he’d been strangely angry about her developing friendship with the human. What could she have in common with a brutish, warmongering shemlen? She who had impressed him with her focus and determination from the start. He’d overreacted during their training session, but after a walk in the Fade that night to speak with his spirit friend Wisdom, he realized the error of his ways. He, of all people, could not afford to become… attached to anyone in the Inquisition, especially not a common Dalish elf. Or more appropriately, an uncommon Dalish elf. It was better that way. He stood and addressed Cassandra and Varric once more.

“I suggest we all get as much sleep as possible. We do not know what tomorrow might bring.”

Solas then walked to his tent, quickly drifting into the Fade as soon as his head hit the bedroll.

 

**

 

The next day was a whirlwind. They encountered strange rifts laced with time magic and then a Grand Enchanter who seemed to recall nothing of her conversation with them in Val Royeaux. The man who now entered the Redcliffe tavern made Solas draw back in antipathy. The smug man, dressed in clothing from the Kingdom of Tevinter, explained he was now in charge. 

A Tevinter Magister named Alexius had indentured the mages? Not a good sign. He silently began calling on his mana, just in case. He felt the Herald do the same, her potential for magic pressing on his own. Even Magister Alexius seemed vaguely uncomfortable.

After some initial questioning, the Herald sat down with the Magister to negotiate for the help of the mages. Suddenly, Alexius’ son, Felix, fell ill. Alexius panicked and immediately called off the meeting, leading his whole party out of the tavern to attend to his son’s sudden illness. When they’d left, the Herald showed the rest of them the note Felix had stuffed in her hand when he stumbled into her arms during his fit of illness.

“It says ‘ _Come to the Chantry. You are in danger._ ’ Why would Alexius’ own son warn us of danger in such a way?”

Cassandra shrugged. “This is what I feared. I do not like it, but we seem to have little choice in the matter. It could be a trap, but we need to find out what is going on here.”

After questioning some of the locals there in the tavern, they headed to the Chantry, entering just in time to see another tall, dark-haired mage in Tevinter robes fighting off a rift demon. The rift itself glowed eerily in the background, powering up for another round of demons.

“Good,” the mustachioed mage called to them cheerily, “you’re finally here! Now help me close this, would you?”

The Herald barely acknowledged the man. After closing so many rifts together, the four of them worked almost as one, fighting off the first round of demons as the Herald used the anchor to disrupt the magic and weaken their enemies. This rift, however, had the same odd, time-altering properties as the one they had closed just outside of Redcliffe on the way in, and it threw them off balance. As he dispatched the demon near him, he looked over to see Cassandra taking a swing. It seemed as if she and the demon were both moving in slow motion. Suddenly, they sped up again, and Cassandra landed her killing blow in a fraction of a second.

He tried to pay more attention to the magic around him, but the rift pulsed with the next round of demons. The Herald called for them to take positions. She must have sensed the strange time magic had thrown them off, because she included the unknown mage in her instructions for this round. Solas only had a split second to admire her authoritative leadership before his assigned demon materialized in front of him. After disrupting the rift again, she called out encouragement that they'd weakened the rift.

“Just one more round to go, friends!”

For the final onslaught of demons, she directed them to their targets once again and only briefly turned away from the rift to call on Cassandra to assist Varric with a particularly stubborn demon. The time shifts were taking their toll on her focus, but she still took on Cassandra’s already weakened target, dispatched it with icy efficiency and then lifted her hand to close the rift. The mark spewed the green stream of magic into the rift and within a few seconds, she whipped her hand back, sewing the rift shut. The dark-haired man approached and seemed a little breathless but otherwise in a good mood.

“Fascinating! How does that work, exactly?” he asked the Herald.

He stared at her, waiting for an answer, but the Herald just shrugged, still trying to catch her breath.

“You don’t even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and boom, rift closes.”

The Herald looked at him uneasily and finally spoke. “Who are you?”

“Ah! Getting ahead of myself again, I see. Dorian of House Pavus. How do you do?”

“Another one from Tevinter. Be cautious with this one,” Cassandra said dryly.

Solas couldn’t help but agree with her. Dorian, however, was not put out.

“Suspicious friends you have here. The Magister Alexius was my mentor, so my assistance should be valuable, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“We were expecting Felix to be here,” the Herald said, clearly trying to be careful about how much she revealed.

“I’m sure he’s on his way. He was to give you the note then meet us here after ditching his father.”

“Are you a Magister, too?” she inquired cautiously.

Dorian sighed. “Alright, let’s say this once. I’m a mage from Tevinter, but _not_ a member of the Magisterium. I know southerners use the terms interchangeably, but that only makes you sound like barbarians.”

Unimpressed, the Herald continued her questioning. “And you’re betraying your mentor because….?”

“Alexius _was_ my mentor, meaning he’s not any longer - not for some time now. Look, you must know there’s danger. That should be obvious, even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you as if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right! To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

“He arranged it so he could arrive here just after the Divine died?”

Dorian looked at her approvingly. “You catch on quick.”

Cassandra shook her head, clearly unable to stay silent any longer. “You don’t really believe this, do you Herald? It’s preposterous!”

“The rift you closed here. You saw how it twisted time around itself - sped some things up and slowed others down? Soon, there will be more like it, and they’ll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unraveling the world.”

Dorian spat out the last sentence in contempt. Solas might not like the fact that this man haled from Tevinter, but he had to admit that the scenario fit the evidence he’d seen with the new rifts here in Redcliffe. Which meant the Breach affected more than the physical space it occupied. _Yes, that fits with the nature of the Fade seeping into our world._ The question wasn’t if he was right. It was why - and what - he knew about it.

The Herald seemed to have the same thought. “I’d really like a little more proof that this magical time control-”

Dorian cut her off. “Go with it. I know what I’m talking about. I helped develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory. Alexius could never get it to work. What I don’t understand is why he’s doing it - ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackies?”

Felix chose that moment to finally join them. “He didn’t do it for them.”

Dorian turned to greet his friend. “Took you long enough! Is he getting suspicious?”

Felix shook his head. “No, but I shouldn’t have played the illness card. I thought he’d be fussing over me all day.”

Solas listened as the two men revealed Alexius’ involvement with a Tevinter cult called the Venatori. Their combined explanations swayed the Herald, and Solas had to admit, even if only to himself, that their story sounded plausible. Dorian left them with a request to join the Inquisition’s party when they decided to return to Redcliffe to deal with the situation. Felix also left a short while later after sharing the names of a few local places they could expect to eat, drink and trade without fear for their lives.

“In all honesty, however, I highly recommend leaving Redcliffe as soon as possible. Return to us when you’re ready.” Felix turned before he walked out of the Chantry, his pallid face reflecting a deep sadness. “But please, whatever you do, try to make it quick.”

Solas wasn’t sure whether the young man meant a quick return - or a quick death for his father. An ominous thought either way. The Herald fell deep into her thoughts, but Cassandra, ever a woman if action, wasn’t taking the young man’s words lightly.

“Herald, I believe we should take Felix’s advice and leave for Haven at once. It is still morning. If we leave now and ride hard, we can make it back by tomorrow evening and regroup with the advisors. We need to think this through.”

He understood Cassandra’s meaning - that they should abandon the mages and recruit the templars. A brief flame of anger rose in the Herald’s eyes, but it quickly died down again. She met Solas’ gaze and raised an eyebrow. Their shared look went unnoticed by the Seeker, but a cough from the dwarf notified him that the author had not missed it. No, the child of stone never seemed to miss anything.

“Well, whatever we do, Snowflake, we shouldn’t stay here. Let’s at least head back to town.”

She simply nodded, and they all made their way down to the water’s edge. After doing some business with a few tradespeople Felix had recommended, the Herald seemed content to leave for now.

They rode hard, which made conversation nearly impossible. When they finally stopped well after sundown to camp, their exhaustion made it impossible to do more than groom their horses and collapse after setting up wards and designating watches. It wasn’t until their brief stop for a midday meal the next day that Solas finally had a moment to speak with her alone. He invited her to walk a little away from the horses to sit by a small stream and eat their tasteless rations.

“How are you feeling today, lethallan?”

She gave him a half smile, exhaustion written all over her face, and then looked away. “I’m tired, and I hurt all over. But mostly, I'm frustrated. I keep thinking that the end is in sight, but at every turn…” She stopped and played with her food for a bit. “I guess I was just thinking we'd have closed the Breach and I'd be home by now. It feels like I’m no closer to that goal now than I was a month ago. How can that be? Will it always be this way?”

Solas let out a soft sigh. “No, da’len. Much like the rifts in time we just encountered, the days of slowly building to a goal will seem almost motionless. When the time comes to strike a blow, however, the moment will fly by as the wind through the trees. You can use this time we have now to direct the wind through the proper channels so it does not fly out of your control later.”

“Wise advice as always, Solas. But how does one direct the wind?”

“You are already doing it through the things you have set in motion in Val Royeaux and the Hinterlands. Even your trip to the Fallow Mire might be shown to be of use. The runes there were interesting at the least.”

“Well, then at least this wretched smell that just won’t leave my skin will have been for something. Thanks for the pep talk, hahren.”

“You’re welcome.” Obviously, she was in a contrary mood, so he changed the subject. “I’ve noticed that you don’t speak much elven, even around me. Is that because you didn’t learn it in your clan or because you are deliberately not speaking it?”

She seemed genuinely surprised at the question. “I would’ve thought you’d be glad to not hear the elven language butchered by a Dalish mouth.”

“I don’t mind _your_ Dalish mouth.”

Solas watched her eyes widen, then drop as she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. He wasn’t sure why he’d said it. Perhaps the same impetus that caused him to comment on her indomitable focus. Regardless, it was a true statement. The more time they spent in each other’s company, the more he recognized and appreciated her frankness, decisive nature and warm, generous spirit in spite of her natural reticence. She had proved innocent and malleable in many ways, but when pressed, her core was solid iron bark. She would do what she felt right, every time, to the end. He couldn’t help but admire her spirit. She was everything he wasn’t.

Finally, she responded by ignoring his comment altogether. “I don’t speak elven mostly because I don’t want to have to explain what I’m saying all the time. You’re the only one who would understand it. As for why I don’t with you...” She shrugged. “I suppose I’ve just gotten used to not speaking it lately.”

“Hmmmm. And so you don’t mind if I speak it to you, da’len?”

“No, though I wish you wouldn’t call me a child so often. It feels… condescending when you say it. I am 26 years old, you know.”

Solas nodded in acquiescence. “I didn’t realize it bothered you. I am simply used to using it as a term of respect for one younger than me. Shall I continue with lethallan, then?”

“Ma nuvenin. Ma serannas, lethallin.”

Solas caught her gaze and tilted his head slightly. The unique blue-violet shade of her eyes struck him once again. He wondered briefly about her lineage. Long ago, he had known elves with eyes similar to hers and one elf in particular who had looked eerily similar to the Herald. _What were the chances_ …

“Hey Chuckles, Cassandra says it’s time to move on!” Varric yelled. “And bring her worshipfulness with you, too.”

She broke eye contact first, and he silently cursed the dwarf. As he watched her wash her hands off in the stream, Solas reached for his calm but found it more difficult to grasp. Perhaps he had trouble because he could sense a connection between them? During their travels, he could often feel her mana reaching out to his, mostly at night while they both wandered the Fade. He had never tried to find her there, but now he wondered if he should.

“We need to leave now if we are to reach Haven before it becomes too dark to see.”

Cassandra’s voice spurred them both into motion, and soon they were back on the road. The terrain quickly turned difficult as they climbed the foothills of the Frostback mountains. Solas spent the remainder of his time attempting to dissect his connection to the other elf, but as their horses tread the final mile to Haven, he was no closer to an answer than he had been at any time in the last few months. Perhaps he would ask his friend Wisdom tonight in the Fade, though his previous lines of questioning concerning the Herald had turned circular in nature, probably a direct result of Solas’ own tumultuous thoughts on the matter.

When they arrived in Haven, the Herald headed straight for her quarters after a brief conversation with Cassandra. None of them saw her again until the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - I'm not really a Solasmancer, so I haven't spent a ton of time thinking through Solas' motivations like some of you might have. I also haven't played Trespasser, though I know the basics of the DLC. I'm always open to thoughts and comments about characterization!
> 
> However, I do think that regardless of whether or not a female, elven Herald romances him, he does become attracted to her because she impresses him so much. Evana, in particular, is a researcher. As shown in her first conversation with Cullen, she believes in the Truth, and doesn't simply accept things at face value most of the time. Solas appreciates this about her while at the same time being uncomfortable about her discernment and ability to read people.
> 
> TL;DR: He's trying to remain aloof, but she's unwittingly drawing him in.


	12. In which the Commander bends to the demands of duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen decides he must be more professional around the Herald. It's more difficult than he imagined.

“Cassandra and I have decided I need hand-to-hand combat lessons.”

The Herald looked up at Cullen as they walked side by side down a damp, sun-dappled path outside Haven. After the latest in a string of strained war council meetings, she had expressed a wish to speak with him about an Inquisition matter, so they had agreed to walk and talk. They wandered aimlessly as a relatively warm summer breeze took the edge off the cool, mountain air.

He had not seen her when the party arrived from the trip to the Fallow Mire and Redcliffe. However, Cullen knew the injuries had to be severe for Cassandra to send the Herald straight to her quarters to rest without so much as a briefing. His first glimpse of her at the council meeting had felt like a punch in the gut, and even now, he couldn’t look at the large greenish bruise on her face without a healthy dose of rage and an overwhelming urge to hide her away from the world and keep her safe.

_Foolishness._

“You and Cassandra? Is this a result of your… run in with the Avvar?”

She shrugged. “Probably. She was concerned about my ability to fight off enemy attacks in close quarters, especially considering I mostly practice ranged fighting as a mage. It’s just a safeguard, really, in case I get into a… desperate situation.”

Cullen nodded. “Yes, and a good one. Will Cassandra train you, then?”

“I would think so. Who else would do it?”

 _I could_ , he thought. Hand-to-hand combat was one of his specialties. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. Typically, his men and women would spar in just their tunics and breeches at first, just to get a sense of the different holds and blocks. A person had to have a strong understanding of the basics before adding armor into the mix. He found himself blushing slightly at the thought of him… and her…

“Yes, Cassandra would be best,” he said quickly. “If she is unavailable, I’m sure Lieutenant Rozellene would be happy to help out as well. She’s one of my best.”

“Ma serannas, Cullen.”

He gave her a quizzical look. “Ma sar-?”

“Ma serannas. It means my thanks - or plainly, thank you.”

“Ah.”

She had never spoken to him in elven before, so the introduction now seemed odd. He didn’t know how to ask about it, though. His hand went up to his neck as he tried to formulate his thoughts.

“I… uh… you’ve never - I mean, I’ve not heard you say that before.”

She nodded. “I’ve typically avoided it around humans, but Solas reminded me yesterday that I was not just among humans. I’m going to try to be… more like myself, I think.”

“Well, if it helps, I like it. It sounds - um - nice when you speak it.”

He groaned internally as he watched her try, and fail, to fight off a grin of amusement. His only comfort was remembering her own ineptitude at conversation, though he still blushed to think of how their last conversation in the tavern had ended. Even during the war council meeting, each of them had taken some time to shyly test the waters around the other. He did his best to put her at ease - to show that he had forgotten the whole thing. But, of course, he hadn’t. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

He changed the subject. “Your new recruit - Sera is it? - is an… interesting addition to our cause.”

She laughed and nodded. “She is certainly a little on the strange side, but she was quite literally a dead shot with that bow and arrow at Val Royeaux. I think she and her group, the Friends of Red Jenny, could be useful to us. I was thinking of testing out her and Blackwall as companions on the trip to the Storm Coast.”

Cullen raised his eyebrows. “If you’re leaving Varric behind, you’d better break that news gently. I believe he was looking forward to finding - and destroying - more red lyrium. Varric and I experienced the effects of the tainted lyrium in Kirkwall, and I think he’s got a personal vendetta against the stuff now.”

She kicked a pinecone forcefully. “Well, it serves him right for meddling.”

“Meddling?” Cullen realized a split second too late what she might be referring to. “Um, that is - Varric is good at prying into people’s business. I wouldn’t take him too seriously.”

A faint blush bloomed on her already rosy cheeks. “Well…” She cleared her throat and glanced at him. “Sera is a risk, for sure, but that’s why I think a recruitment trip would be perfect to see how she gets along with the rest of the team. And Cassandra and Blackwall seem to get along fairly well already.”

That meant she was leaving Solas behind as well. “Two warriors in your party? Are you expecting trouble?”

She shrugged. “I don’t really know what to expect. Krem - the one who arrived with the message about this Qunari mercenary who wants to join up - seems to be trustworthy. But I’m no Champion of Kirkwall, and fighting a Qunari is not exactly something I want to do on my own. If he turns out to be a problem, I want extra muscle to back me up.”

“A solid plan.”

Part of Cullen wished he could travel with her as well, but much work remained to be done here. Every day brought more recruits, more problems with supply lines and more shows of force or military displays to increase their influence. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. It was as if his whole life had been building up to leading the Inquisition armies against an unknown foe with the power to rip apart the fabric of reality. He would not shirk his responsibilities. He couldn’t let her... _them_ down like that.

He stole a glance in her direction. Her eyes seemed distant, as if she, too, were caught up in a precarious web of thoughts and reveries, and so he let his mind continue to wander. Perhaps due to constantly talking about it around the war table, he found his thoughts turning back to the question of a mage or templar alliance.

The Herald had made it clear that, despite the strange circumstances in Redcliffe, she had no intention of abandoning her wishes to recruit the mages. He still thought they would be better off trying to convince the templars to help them, but he couldn’t deny that her leadership and willingness to put herself in danger had gotten them this far. He wanted to give her - the mages - the benefit of the doubt, but old thoughts and habits clung to him like second skin. Shedding those thought patterns required more than simply giving up lyrium and stepping onto a boat to Ferelden. The years of ingrained training hung heavy at times and yet comforted him at others. He had no desire to go back to the man he’d been in Kirkwall. But the weight of his own skin mired him in those patterns of superiority. He determined he would work harder to free himself of those inherent prejudices. She deserved more from him than blind adherence to a way of life he’d supposedly left behind in the Free Marches.

They walked for some time in the comfortable silence he had come to cherish whenever they were together when, without warning, she stopped and turned to face him. Caught off guard, he walked on a few more steps and had to backtrack to stand in front of her. He couldn’t help the quizzical look on his face.

“My lady?”

She stood before him for a long moment, wringing her hands and looking anywhere but at him. Finally, she took a deep breath and began speaking, and once again, he found her own thoughts had tracked with his own 

“Cullen, I know that you and I… that we disagree on choice of allies. We are so different in so many ways… But I hope you can see this is not about better or worse allies. It's about the ally we believe has the greatest chance of sealing the Breach. Solas believes that the mages are the best solution, and I tend to agree with him. Perhaps that is wrong, and perhaps we are both blinded by our own connection to magic and the Fade. I want you to know I appreciate the sense in potentially dampening the Breach magic to close it. However, if it comes down to a force of mages whose power I know and can understand verses a host of templars whose power is so unfamiliar… and feels so hostile to me…”

She had reached up and absently picked a few pine needles from the branch above her head as she spoke. Now she crushed them violently between her fingers, immediately engulfing them in the strong scent of evergreen.

“I know that I was a disappointment to you all. If I had been a warrior, maybe I would choose to side with the templars... but I’m not, and if you give me the choice... I choose to fight this threat the best way I know how... with magic. I- I hope that makes a little bit of sense.”

Cullen was unsure how to respond. He couldn’t deny her accusation. Her words recalled to him vividly their first meeting at the war council meeting and the bitter disappointment that coursed through him at the sight of the diminutive elf with the mark that was supposed to save them all. More than once during the first week after stabilizing the Breach he had wondered in disbelief how such a small, seemingly shy creature had come to be the savior of Thedas. He knew Cassandra and Leliana had been disappointed as well... at first. They had all long since stopped underestimating her skill and strength. She was a powerful mage - more powerful than most of the mages he had encountered in the Circles - and had the unique ability to draw people to her, despite her reticence. Or perhaps because of it.

And she had begun to shrink in on herself the longer he remained silent. The strong scent of the crushed pine assaulted his nose as he inhaled sharply and struggled to assuage her fears as well as his own.

“Herald - my lady - we may disagree, but that doesn’t mean I won’t support the ultimate decision of the council.”

She sighed and started to pace. His heart constricted at the look of disappointment that flitted across her face.

“Yes, you’ll support the decision, but we won’t agree... I- I will fight for the mages, Cullen, and I don't want that to… to… I want us to still… you will still be my friend, right?”

A strange warmth spread through his chest as she stopped to look up at him imploringly, her long, slender fingers still violently twisting pine needles. He reached out and placed his hands on her upper arms, startling her into stillness.

“We disagree on the next course of action, my Lady, but our goal - to close the Breach - is the same, is it not?”

She looked up at him wearily and nodded her head. “Yes, of course.”

Cullen caught and held her gaze. “Then know that however much we disagree, I believe in _you_ and your commitment to saving the people of Thedas. You had no reason to stay after the way we treated you, but you stayed nonetheless. You did not want fame nor the title bestowed upon you by an unfamiliar religion that has since labeled you a heretic. You are forced to sit through lessons in etiquette and read hours upon hours of war reports. You go above and beyond to help the people of Fereldan during your travels. And you do all of this when I know that you would much rather simply go home and be with your people - your family.”

Her gaze faltered, and he bent down to catch her eyes once more. A pink tinge crept into her cheeks, but he waited until her eyes locked with his once more before he continued.

“You are a mage, yes, but we all see the sacrifice you are making. I- we admire and honor you for it - for your single-minded focus on our shared goal to save Thedas.” Cullen swallowed and glanced away briefly before giving her what he hoped was a sincere look. “The conflict between mages and templars has already destroyed too much. I will not let it destroy our friendship as well.”

Her mouth opened and closed several times as if she were trying to find a response. He smiled and awkwardly patted her arms before letting his hands fall to his sides. It had been a pep talk for her, but he found himself encouraged by it as well. Truly, they had the same goal. A clear mission. If they disagreed on the method… well, as long as they closed the Breach in the end, it didn’t matter, did it?

Her face gradually took on a peaceful mien, and her voice, edged with stress just a moment ago, softened. “Ma serannas, falon. Ma melava halani. You have shown me yet another reason why you are a great and inspirational Commander. Cassandra chose wisely. The Inquisition could not do better.”

He blushed slightly at her compliments. He desperately wanted to ask what she had said to him but didn’t dare disturb the moment. It was enough to see her relaxed and comfortable again. After a moment, it occurred to him that he should avert his gaze, but he was caught. The air between them charged with energy. A moment later, however, she dropped her eyes and a corner of her mouth turned upward.

“I finally got my lecture, and it _was_ a good one. Shall we turn back now? I know that you are a busy man. I’m sure at least 800 people have required your assistance since we left.”

Cullen huffed out an awkward laugh as the moment passed, and they headed back the way they came. “I’m sure you’ve been missed as well. No doubt we’ll be thoroughly chastised by Cassandra when we return.”

“Oh, me especially. Cassandra has been following me around asking about my health since the Fallow Mire, so I doubt she’ll let me leave for the Storm Coast for at least another few days. Leliana said her scouts need more time to fully map the area anyway, so I’m sure Josephine will gladly take advantage of all the time she’ll have with me. I hate to wait so long to return to Redcliffe, but I think we’re going to need more good men and women before we can reasonably expect to close the Breach. Krem’s description of his mercenary group, the Chargers, and their Qunari boss The Iron Bull has me hopeful that we’ll be gaining some truly powerful allies soon.”

“But you’ll have the Seeker and the Grey Warden at your side, just in case.”

“And don’t forget the nutty elf… I mean the _other_ nutty elf - not me this time.”

Cullen laughed. “I don’t think I would've ever thought of the word ‘nutty’ to describe you.” _Strong, talented and beautiful maybe, but not nutty_.

“You don’t know me very well, then,” she lilted in a playful tone.

Cullen smiled. “That’s true, but I think I’m getting there.”

She glanced at him shyly now, her grin fading into a wistful half smile. “I suppose you are. Then perhaps I should get to know _you_ better.”

His face fell, and he fought to keep the wariness out of his voice as he turned to look out over the forested hills. “What would you like to know?”

“Well, to start off, I don’t even know where you’re from.”

“I grew up here in Ferelden, near Honnleath. I was … transferred to Kirkwall shortly after the Blight. This is the first time I’ve returned in almost ten years.”

She seemed surprised. “You haven’t seen Ferelden in ten years? Are you glad to be back?”

“I was not sorry to leave at the time... and I did not expect to return. Now, between the Divine’s murder and the Breach, I’ve arrived to find nothing but chaos.”

“So, when you were here during the Blight, did you fight Darkspawn?”

Cullen felt his body tense involuntarily. “No. I was stationed at Ferelden’s Circle Tower. The Circle had troubles of its own. I… remained there during the Blight.”

“Troubles of it’s own?” Her brows furrowed, and she looked at him in confusion. “I’ve heard few stories of the Blight and never anything involving a Circle. What happened?”

He let out a slow, quiet breath, and reminded himself that she knew not what she asked of him. Sights and sounds pushed into his consciousness - rivers of blood slicking the cold stone floor, screams of his friends as they were dragged to their deaths, hallucinations twisting his mind. He internally scrambled to shove them back into his subconscious where they belonged, where they would only come out to haunt him in the nightly terrors that had lost him more than one bunkmate over the years. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. His voice came out low and tense, anyway.

“Few who survived the Blight have fond memories of that time. I would prefer not to speak of it.”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, but he could feel the change in the air around them - tense and awkward. When she spoke again, she chose her words carefully. He groaned internally at her thinking he was fragile in any way. But he couldn’t speak of it. He couldn’t.

“So… what was Kirkwall like?”

At least this was something he could answer. Despite the dark thoughts still churning in his mind and unsettling his stomach, he tried desperately to lighten the mood.

“While I was there, Qunari occupied and then later attacked the city, the viscount’s murder caused political unrest, relations between mages and templars fell apart, an apostate blew up the Chantry, and the Knight-Commander went mad from red lyrium. Other than that, it was fine.”

The attempt at humor fell completely flat. Instead, when he finally looked her direction, her eyes reflected a deep sadness as she nodded. She clasped her hands behind her back and looked up at him.

“What _did_ happen between Kirkwall’s mages and templars?”

“You were at the conclave, you must have heard people speak of it.”

“Yes, I know what they _say_ happened, but you were _there_.”

He couldn’t help the sigh. He supposed it was only fair after she had revealed so much of her own life to him.

“There was tension between mages and templars long before I arrived. Eventually, it reached a breaking point. There was fighting in the streets. Abominations began killing both sides. It was a nightmare.” He shook his head, trying to banish the new, more recent images of death and destruction. “The templars _should_ have restored order, but red lyrium had driven Knight-Commander Meredith mad. She threatened to kill Hawke, Kirkwall’s champion, and turned on her own men. I’m not sure how far she would have gone. Too far.”

He paused, vivid images of that time and place crowding in to confuse his already muddled thoughts. She spoke again, encouraging him to continue.  
  
“So, you opposed her?”

“I stood with the Champion against her, in the end. But I should have seen through Meredith sooner.”

His mood had soured considerably since their conversation began. He tried to keep the self-loathing at bay, to not seem so melancholy, but it was difficult to draw himself out of those memories once they caught hold of him. Thankfully, she changed the subject again.

“Varric is from Kirkwall, yes? Did you two know each other?”

“I knew he was friends with Hawke and spoke with him a little when she would visit the Circle, but little else. We’ve spoken more since I joined the Inquisition, largely at Varric’s insistence. Apparently I spend too much time with a serious expression on my face, and it’s bad for my health.”

“I wouldn’t disagree with that. Being too serious _can_ be detrimental if you don’t take care of yourself properly.”

He glanced over at her to see her head cocked to one side, regarding him carefully. Cullen decided to let her comment hang in the air as they drew closer to Haven. Their silent camaraderie wrapped around them, calming his thoughts and silencing the voices of doubt… for now.

One voice, however, refused to be silenced. It warned him of the dangerous slope he seemed to be slipping down at a faster and faster pace. _We are getting to know each other as friends and comrades in arms, nothing more_ , he countered. He’d done nothing to create a conflict of interest for the Inquisition - not even if his heart pounded at the mere mention of her, or his eyes wandered to her lips as he guiltily imagined what they might feel like pressed against his own, or his fingers gave in and touched her at any reasonable opportunity...

The voice ruthlessly reminded him that those things were not appropriate for “friends” despite the fact that he’d been doing those things for weeks now and had managed to accomplish all three in the last half hour of conversation.

 _This has gone far enough,_ the voice warned him. _You must fight it. Your duty to the Inquisition demands you quell this infatuation before it begins to affect your work._

While she was away, he had no trouble maintaining focus. He remained serious, efficient and driven, never resting until the day’s work was done. The nightmares that had haunted him for more than a decade had become worse since he stopped taking lyrium, so sleep offered no relief. He would much rather work. He thought of her often, of course, but he found it a simple matter to direct his thoughts away from inappropriate daydreams.

When she was there in Haven, however, whether directly in his presence or not, a small part of him constantly wondered where she might be or what she might be doing. It wasn’t enough for his troops to notice, but _he_ noticed. At a minimum, she distracted him. When she spoke to him, especially if he wasn’t prepared for it, he turned into a flustered, bumbling fool. In a way, it wasn’t surprising. He had always been easily flustered by women at first, but developing a closer relationship with her seemed to make things worse instead of better as it had with Cassandra, Leliana and Josephine. Those three could tease him all they liked now, and he barely reacted… unless they teased him about _her_.

He simply couldn’t afford the distraction of his immature and improper thoughts. The Inquisition couldn’t afford it. Besides, she probably didn’t even find humans attractive. Even if she did, what could he offer her? _Nothing_ , he thought with self-loathing. And yet he allowed the pointless attraction to burn on despite his better judgment, like a veil fire that burned but gave no heat.

 _Then you must get over this,_ his inner voice chastised. _Snuff the flame_.

And if he couldn’t?

_You must._

Varric, ever the constant observer, already had an idea of his weakness for the Herald, and who knows how many others might suspect? Even these walks, as comforting and refreshing as he found them, only served to fan the flame.

_You must stop this, then. You must stop anything that isn’t directly related to your shared mission._

A deep sense of loss suffused his body at the thought, but he shoved it away. He must do it for the good of the Inquisition, for the good of Thedas.

As they approached the gates, a messenger ran toward him. “A report from Captain Rylen for you, ser!”

“Ah, thank you.”

Her face lit up with curiosity. “I meant to check on their progress while we were in the area, but after what happened in Redcliffe... How are the watchtowers coming along?”

Cullen avoided looking at her by reading through the report aloud. “Rylen says they have completed the watch towers. Dennet has been working to supply them with the number of horses required to move the contingent back to Haven. It appears many new recruits have joined them in the last few weeks, so he’s had them building wagons for the horses in order to speed up the trip back. We’ll have our hands full organizing their return, which Rylen anticipates will be in the day after tomorrow.”

“Good. And Dennet will be traveling with them?”

Cullen did look up from the report now. “Yes, he is planning to ride in with Rylen.” He paused, his resolve nearly breaking as he looked into her in the eyes. “Well… I have much to attend to, as I’m sure you do as well. You know where to find me should you require anything."

Before she could respond, he walked off with the messenger to begin preparations for Captain Rylen’s return. He didn’t dare turn back.

 

**

 

The remainder of that day and all of the next were indeed full of preparations. He rearranged the camp structure in anticipation of the additional forces and placed additional food and clothing requisitions for the new recruits. He spoke with Harritt and Threnn about the time frame required to outfit a large contingent. By late the next evening, the camp bustled with final preparations. He had just sat down for a final round of paperwork when he heard a familiar voice outside the tent.

“Commander? May I come in?”

Cullen froze. He had already taken off his armor, and in just a tunic and breeches, he suddenly felt rather naked.

“I - uh…”

“Oh! If it’s a bad time,” the Herald’s disembodied voice backpedaled, “I can come back later.”

If she needed him for Inquisition business, he couldn’t justify sending her away. “No, no. It’s fine. Please come in.”

He saw a slender hand reach into the tent to pull back the flap. Cold night air rushed in with her, and goosebumps prickled up on his arms, back and chest. She quickly shut the flap again and then stood awkwardly for a moment at the end of the large tent. Despite his self-consciousness, he came out from behind his desk and grabbed an extra chair, thanking Josephine in his head for forcing him to keep it when she'd arranged for his tent to be cleared of extraneous supplies. Setting it down on the opposite side of the desk, he motioned to it and walked back around to the other side.

“Please, have a seat.”

She’d been staring at him since he stood up. At his invitation, however, her eyes dropped. She walked forward tentatively, only glancing up at him once or twice before sitting down to stare at the enormous piles of papers on his desk. It suddenly occurred to him that she’d never been inside his tent before.

“What can I do to help you, my lady?”

She gave a small start and glanced up at him. She looked as if she had just returned from a walk, all ruddy cheeks and wind-swept locks. _It’s a bit late for her, isn’t it?_ Cullen felt a stab of regret that he had purposefully organized his day to avoid the temptation of joining her, but the voice in the back of his head reminded him of his duty.

“Ir abelas, Commander,” she laughed nervously. Although he didn’t understand the meaning, the lilting sound of her soft voice soothed him. Maker, he had missed her presence. He internally cursed his weakness and watched her shift uncomfortably in the chair. Was it him or his tent that made her so nervous? He had nearly resolved to ask if she were alright when she cleared her throat and sat a little straighter in her chair, seeming to collect herself.

“Today, I was able to convince Cassandra I’m well enough to leave for Storm Coast. We will set out the day after tomorrow at dawn. As we discussed at the war council meeting today, Leliana’s scouts have not made their final report, yet, but Cassandra and I figure we can obtain maps and locations directly from them once we arrive. It means we may have to make some decisions in the field rather than planning out each aspect of the mission here. It’s a little bit of a different approach than we’ve taken in the past, so I thought I’d ask your opinion before Cassandra and I bring it up in tomorrow’s meeting. Can you think of any objections?”

Cullen felt a swell of pride that she had come to value and trust his opinion so much in the past three months. She had told him as much when they first discussed the mage and templar problem, but this was her putting her words into action and entrusting him with advising her on a plan of her own. Gratification flowed through him, and he had to force himself into an even tone.

“I think it’s a bit risky as we are unaware of the current conditions there. But if something is wrong, we can’t afford to wait for _another_ group of scouts to head out and then wait for a report on _that_. If there is a problem, I have full confidence you and Cassandra will handle it. You will have my full support tomorrow.”

She looked relieved, but the undercurrent of nervous tension remained. “Thank you, Cullen. I appreciate your advice.”

“It‘s nothing. I am, after all, the Inquisition’s strategic advisor.”

He hadn’t meant it to sound so dismissive. He longed to correct himself, to speak more softly, but the voice of duty stopped him.

"Right. Well... ma serannas, Cullen."

She stood and bowed, then turned to leave. The rest of him - every part of him except that damned voice of duty - screamed at him to stop her, but he remained silent. She lifted the flap, and another burst of cold air filled the tent. As he listened to her footsteps fade away, he let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. This was far more difficult than he’d anticipated. Good thing he had all these reports to keep him busy. He reached for his quill and shoved down the guilt he felt for being so distant with her.

 

**

 

Captain Rylen arrived with the rest of the Inquisition forces just before midday on the following day. Cullen had done his best to plan for their arrival, but a mild form of chaos still descended upon the camp for a few moments before each of his officers remembered their orders. As they worked to organize all the people - signing them up to officially join the Inquisition, assigning quarters, providing food, clothes, tags and a bedroll, developing lists of armor and other items they would need to be properly outfitted soldiers and laborers for the Inquisition - Cullen moved from location to location, answering any questions and averting crises. The day had been trying for his patience as well as his head. The occasional, niggling ache in his temples had become more frequent and harder to ignore with each passing day, and today, it had blossomed into a full-blown headache, souring his mood even further.

They had also received word that morning that Josephine, Maker bless her, had acquired the supplies and sappers to build a couple of trebuchets from a sympathetic Lady Seryl. Now, as the late afternoon sun washed over his tent, he was finishing up orders for constructing the trebuchets when he heard the Herald’s laughter. At the sound, a powerful yearning to join her seized him, but he ignored the urge… just as he had pretended to ignore her presence and focus on the troops as she’d sparred with Cassandra at the practice grounds earlier this morning.

Now, it seemed the Herald was back for more, and he heard Cassandra’s voice call out instructions to her. His brow furrowed. Why would she be yelling? Cassandra’s voice cut through his tent again.

“Now, Captain, show her the counter to that. Be careful, though, her hips are still bruised.”

Captain? As in Captain Rylen? All rational thought flew from his brain as Cullen burst out of his chair and stalked toward the practice field. When he saw the Captain with his arms wrapped closely around the Herald’s slender frame in a familiar sparring hold, he quite simply lost his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. That didn't last long, did it?
> 
> Note concerning game dialogue: This is pretty much how most of the game dialogue will occur from now on - as part of much larger conversations. Because in real life you don't have a dialogue wheel with random questions to choose from. :) My goal is to make the questions come up as naturally as possible in normal conversation.


	13. In which the head and the heart disagree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AKA - in which jealous Cullen is jealous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting over the weekend. I had a rough time getting the right balance between what Evana wants for herself and what she perceives as her duty. Then, I simply couldn't bring myself to do any writing for the last couple of days. I'm heartbroken that my country chose hate over love, fear over courage. But I'll do my part to make sure there is more love and acceptance wherever I am.
> 
> And on that note, here's some Cullavellan love from me to you.

Evana only half listened to the instructions Cassandra shouted from the side of the practice field as Captain Rylen circled her, looking for an opening. Since her injury in the Fallow Mire, she often felt slow and stupid, her limbs heavy with a bone-deep weariness that clung to the edges of her consciousness. During practice sessions, the feeling intensified to the point she could only concentrate on one thing at a time, so she chose to watch the Captain.

Rylen lunged suddenly, rousing Evana from her lethargy. She blocked with a particularly ungraceful twist, her body moving as though she were slogging through hip-deep water or newly fallen snow. Cassandra shouted something else, and Rylen set up to show her another type of block. Evana resisted the urge to slump over and beg for reprieve, but she silently longed for the familiar comfort of her cabin. There, solitude awaited her. There, she could properly sort through the myriad of emotions vying for dominance in her skull.

Since her ill-fated conversation with Cullen two days ago, he had been helpful but distant, pleasant but wary. Afterwards, she’d spent what little free time she had picking apart every turn of phrase, every shifting tone of voice, every fleeting expression. She assumed she’d upset him with her questions, but the newness of their friendship combined with her lack of experience with such relationships in general left her adrift in a sea of confusion. Were they even still friends? An arrow of doubt pierced her chest, and it stung of rejection.

In his tent last night, she’d meant to apologize for asking questions that clearly brought up painful memories. And if her attention hadn’t been so completely diverted by his lack of armor, she might have done it. She’d often thought his bulk mostly the result of his armor, but when he stood up to reveal a broad chest and shoulders under nothing but a tailored tunic, she realized the extent of her error. Hard muscles moved in accord under the thin fabric, and rolled-up shirtsleeves exposed the taut skin and sinews of his forearms in the glow of the lamplight. Golden hair, golden skin, and golden eyes captured her, and for the first time, she physically _felt_ the tenuous link that had, unbeknownst to her, gradually formed between them - cords that pushed and pulled through the ebb and flow of their disagreements, each back and forth drawing her incrementally closer… whether she wished it or not.

The strength of her reaction frightened her. She could handle basic attraction, but this felt different. Felt like more. The truth floated above her like an apple ripe for the picking, but she could not give in to the temptation. Believing him to be a good man at heart didn’t change his ingrained templar thoughts and behaviors against mages. It didn’t change her duty to her people.

It changed nothing. But…

She still craved his friendship at the very least. Strong yet gentle, professional and collected, he exhibited every quality she pretended to have - and everything Cassandra desperately wanted her to be. The fear grew as she realized exactly how much she wished to be near him, as if being near him would somehow cause his golden glow to rub off on her as well.

Now, however, she reconsidered that desire as he approached them on the practice field at an alarming pace, a fierce look in his eye. She noticed Captain Rylen pause, an exasperated expression passing over his tattooed face as he ran a hand through mussed black hair.

“Andraste preserve us!” he muttered under his breath. “I knew this was a bad idea. Should’ve never let the Seeker talk me into it.”

Evana gave him a puzzled look as he released her from the sparring hold and took a large step away from her. Pale blue eyes begged for understanding as he shook his head and took another large step away, as if for good measure. The thin lines of ink on his prominent, aquiline nose scrunched with his displeasure at the whole situation, but Evana’s brain struggled to process the scene. _What is happening?_

Cullen now stood with Cassandra on the opposite side of the practice field. Their expressions and tense body language led her to believe they were arguing about something, but she couldn’t hear anything from so far away. Mild frustration pricked at her already overloaded emotions.

“What’s going on?” she called to them.

Cullen merely looked at her for a split second, eyes narrowed and dangerous, before directing his attention to Rylen. “Captain, I need to speak with you. Please meet me in my tent once you’ve made yourself presentable.”

“Aye, Commander.”

As the Commander walked away, Rylen respectfully saluted to her while muttering an exasperated, “Well, shit,” under his breath. Anger quickly replaced her confusion as she trailed after Rylen’s retreating form.

“Captain, would you please tell me what’s going on?”

Rylen turned back only long enough to bow again and say, “Herald - Your Worship - please, I do not wish to keep the Commander waiting. The Seeker might be able to explain?”

Evana hesitated only a moment before nodding to him. He grabbed his things and began attaching his armor as he took off toward the Commander’s tent. She swiveled around to find Cassandra, but the Seeker had nearly reached Evana already, a look of frustration marring her statuesque face.

“Of all the insufferable, conceited...  Ugh!”

“What happened?”

“The Commander _very kindly_ reminded me of your delicate health and asked me if I thought it was a good idea for you to be sparring with someone so strong as Captain Rylen the day before leaving for the Storm Coast. I told him to stay out of it - that I knew my business and so did the Captain - so did you for that matter. So, he simply took Rylen away instead. What makes him think he knows so much? He has not seen your injuries. I have - Solas and I tended to them for days without his help!”

Evana opened her mouth, but words refused to form, catching in her throat before she could spit them out. He had been concerned for her _safety_ with his own Captain? Rylen had never been anything but a reliable and trustworthy soldier as far she knew. But Cullen had been so concerned that he’d called Cassandra’s judgment into question? That didn’t seem right - didn’t seem like _Cullen_.

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I, Herald, but you can be assured I will be speaking with the Commander about it as soon as we return from the Storm Coast.”

They began picking up around the practice yard, but the more Evana thought about the odd exchange, the hotter the anger boiled inside her. Cullen’s accusations had called her own judgment into question as well as Cassandra and Rylen’s. What gave him such a right? Overreaching _templar_! Her indignation demanded action.

Strapping on the last of her armor, she looked toward the tents in the distance and then glanced at Cassandra. Her tone reflected her emotions.

“Why wait?”

Cassandra’s eyes widened slightly as Evana strode purposefully toward the Commander’s tent. She rushed to catch up, her tone awash in concern.

“Perhaps you should not be so hasty. Give him some time to calm down before you speak with him, Herald. He is likely to say things he does not mean if you confront him now. For some reason, he is angry - more so than I have seen before.”

 _Let him say what he will_. “If the Commander can’t keep his anger in check, perhaps _he_ should be taking lessons with Josephine, too. His interruption was rude and unnecessary. If he had concerns, all he had to do was voice them, not treat us both as if we’re children who can’t be trusted with simple decisions.”

Cassandra grunted, which meant the Seeker agreed with her. Still, a note of caution rang through her voice as she replied.

“Be sure _you_ do not say things you might regret later, Herald.”

They had nearly reached the Commander’s tent by this time, and she could hear him giving instructions to the Captain - something about trebuchets - in a short, clipped tone. Cassandra parted from her with a final, serious look and a farewell nod.

As Evana slowed to a stop in front of the tent flap, a sliver of apprehension mingled with her anger. _What if this confrontation means the end of our friendship? Is that what I want?_ Then again, considering his distance the last two days, maybe they already weren't friends.

If Varric, Cassandra or even Solas were any indication, she and Cullen had a strange sort of friendship. Their numerous arguments and misunderstandings on fundamentals such as mage freedom and templar oversight seemed to pit them as enemies rather than bind them as friends. Despite his previous reassurances of their shared goal - and his _admiration_ of her actions - the cords between them had turned fragile, as if one touch could snap the connection. Her anger still burned within her, but now, standing face-to-face with the possibility of losing that connection completely, her heart ached as well. The conversation would either break them or bind them more closely, and though she already had trouble imagining doing any of this without his friendship, she knew that distancing herself from him would make it easier for them both when she finally went back to her clan.

_Perhaps Cassandra is right. Perhaps this isn’t such a good idea after all._

Just as she turned to go, however, the voices inside the tent stilled, and Rylen appeared from behind the tent flap. He raised an eyebrow as he greeted her.

“Your Worship.”

Her voice sounded strangled to her own ears as she responded, “Good evening, Captain.”

Too late now. She took a deep breath, collected the waning embers of her anger and entered without bothering to announce herself. Cullen had no doubt heard Rylen’s greeting anyway. She tried to keep her tone even as she had practiced with Josephine earlier that day.

“Commander, I need to speak with you.”

He didn’t bother to look up from his desk as he replied, “Can it wait? I have much to do-”

A dismissal? The anger flared brightly, and she clung to the flame, desperate for an anchor. A tinge of that anger slipped into her voice as she cut him off.

“No, it most certainly cannot.”

He did look up then, and the fragile cords froze into stiff, brittle strings from the pure ice in his stare. He stood up, walked around his desk and leaned against the front edge, crossing his arms in front of him.

“Very well, Herald,” he responded in a flat, dispassionate tone.

 _So that’s where we stand._ A distant voice of reason reminded her that she’d started it by calling him Commander. Part of her wanted to burst into tears, but she drew on her anger and used the techniques Josephine had showed her to keep her expression calm. _He_ was in the wrong, not she. If he wouldn’t admit it, so be it, but she couldn’t just let it pass, no matter the personal consequences. She opened her mouth and let the words fly.

“I need you to explain yourself. Why did you interrupt my lesson? Cassandra is doing this to ensure that I come back from these dangerous missions _alive_ , remember? I’m honestly shocked that you would interfere with that, especially after you seemed to agree that it was a good idea to learn from Cassandra-”

He cut her off in turn with a deadly and defiant voice. “Yes, I trusted _Cassandra_ to spar with you! She is well-trained but also tended your injuries. She knows when and how to be gentle with you as you recover. Rylen on the other hand… he is a former templar himself and is trained to be hard on the recruits. He doesn’t and won’t let up because that is what fifteen years in the Order instilled in him. I trust him with this army. I even trust him with my own life. But your safety…” He let out a growl of frustration. “You are too important, Herald!”

“I was never in any danger, Commander. Surely you can see that. I know my limits, and I can assure you, Captain Rylen’s methods are far gentler than Cassandra’s! He never once held me too tightly or in any way caused me pain.”

The comment, meant to appease him, somehow only managed to make him more angry. She could sense the approaching climax of the argument and mentally braced herself for impact. Sure enough, his eyes darkened as he pushed off from his desk and began pacing in front of it, voice raising slightly.

“Yes, at the beginning! But you can’t know that his training wouldn’t have taken over, or that he wouldn’t have unintentionally injured you.” He stopped pacing and suddenly sliced his hand through the air in a negating motion. “ _I don’t want him touching you!_ ”

Despite her preparation, she reeled at the violence with which he uttered the final sentence. However, the brief look of surprise that flitted over his face at his own words set her brain on a different course. She began to suspect there might be more to his distance than just her ill-advised questions on their walk or even his concern for her safety. She let out a hiss of frustration but tried to maintain an even tone.

“ _I am not made of glass, Cullen._ And neither am I some lost little child. I’m a grown woman. I’ve lived for 26 years without you to fuss over me, and I haven’t done too badly. Look.” She tentatively walked toward him and wiggled her fingers. “I still have all my fingers accounted for. I’d show you my toes, but it’s much too cold in here to take off my boots, plus… well, it’s the end of a long day and _that_ would just be a bad idea all around.”

Despite the thunderous look on his face, the corner of Cullen’s mouth twitched upward slightly at her joke. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply as if trying to calm himself, and lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. The flames that only a moment ago burned brightly in her chest now dwindled. Instead, her voice dropped, low and soft, as she took another tentative step toward him.

“Cullen, if you don’t trust Rylen or even Cassandra, please trust _me_ to know what _I’m_ capable of. It’s hurtful that you would treat me like this - like a child - even after I’ve proven myself in the field over and over again. You’ve even complimented me on my skills before. What will it take for you to _trust_ me?" 

His eyes opened wide, and she watched in fascination as the emotion behind the amber depths shifted to once again reflect the Cullen she’d come to know. Her _friend_. Their gazes locked, and he lowered his voice to almost a whisper as he responded.

“I- I _do_ trust you.”

The words carried a weight she hadn’t expected. Relief and concern flooded through her in equal parts, snuffing the final vestiges of anger. Cords thawed under the honest warmth of his gaze and pulled her toward him. Despite the voice of warning in the back of her mind, she gave in and took another step forward as his eyes remained locked with hers, his face reflecting some kind of pain - whether mental or physical, she didn’t know. They now stood less than a foot apart, and everything in her wanted to reach out to him, to touch him. Clearly something troubled him. What was it? Cords tightened like two sides of a closing rift, and before she could stop herself, she reached up to lightly caress his cheek. A day's worth of stubble prickled under her palm, sending warm tingles down her arm.

“What’s wrong, ma falon? Are you unwell?”

He startled at the unexpected touch and tried to take a step back, but the desk cut off his escape. Instead, he stabilized himself by taking hold of her upper arms. Her lips turned up briefly at the thought of catching him off guard with something as simple as a hand on his face, but concern quickly drowned out all other thoughts. They stood silent, eyes locked, as she attempted to read his thoughts or at least coax him into telling her his troubles.

He didn't speak, but the pained look faded, replaced by a softened gaze. The air shifted between them, buzzing with an energy she'd never felt before. The voice in the back of her mind warned her to step away, but her traitorous body remained planted as goosebumps erupted across her arms and chest and a pleasant tingle slid down her spine. Finally, his gaze dropped to her mouth, and of its own volition, her tongue darted out to lick her lips, her teeth lightly biting at her vallaslin where it bisected her bottom lip. Her own gaze flicked to his lips - to that infuriatingly attractive scar - and his breath caught in his throat.

Eyes flicking upward, their gazes locked once more. Her body hummed in response, a pulse of anticipation shooting straight to her core. Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears, she feared he would hear it, and yet all her senses seemed sharper, heightened. Her hand shifted slightly against his cheek, the stubble rasping across her fingertips and sending her further into a haze of… _want_. Leather gloves creaked in her ears as his fingers tightened around her arms, the pressure nearly causing her to sigh aloud as the sudden image of big, warm hands sliding down naked skin took over her thoughts.

Her brain made one more feeble attempt to distract her with vague notions of leaving him behind when she returned to her clan. But then he inhaled shakily, his mouth opened slightly, and his head dropped a fraction of an inch, as if… _Creators, is he going to..._?

A split second later, his jaw tightened in her palm as he clenched his teeth, his lips pressing into a thin line. He closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath through his nose as if to steady himself.

“I’m fine, my lady. Just a bit of a headache.”

And just like that, the moment shattered. He dropped his hands from her arms and reached up to capture her hand where it rested on his cheek. He lowered her hand, and after a brief squeeze, released it to move around to the other side of the desk. So formal. So professional. She now questioned whether she had simply imagined the entire thing.

“I guess this is where I apologize again for being an idiot?” he asked as he glanced up at her.

He tried for a light tone, but the weariness in his voice told her more than words ever could. Her concern came back in a rush as she pushed away the dazed euphoria, the disappointment, the familiar twinges of further rejection. First and foremost, Cullen needed her help.

“Save the apology for Cassandra,” she responded with a shake of her head. “I just want a promise from you that if you have a problem with a decision I’ve made or with something I’m doing, you’ll directly address me about it. You don’t even have to promise not to get angry. I just want a chance to be able to talk it through then and there. Deal?”

“Of course, my lady.”

“Good. Now, stay right here. I have something for that headache of yours.”

As she left the tent, she turned back just in time to see him slouch heavily into his chair. A frown pulled at her features as she ran to her quarters, placed the kettle on the fire, and then pulled out a few small pouches from a box on the shelf beside the fire. Two of them she immediately put in her coat pocket. She measured out the appropriate amount of leaves from another pouch into a mug, and then sat down in front of the fire.

While she waited for the water to boil, she forced her thoughts away from that intense - and more than likely one-sided - moment and reminded herself that he was in pain. He’d probably been in pain for much of the day. No wonder he’d exploded over such a small thing as Rylen assisting with her training. She wished she’d noticed it sooner. Knowing his stubborn nature, he might never ask her for help, but she couldn’t very well leave him to his own devices when she had such simple cures for his ailment right here.

Carefully walking back to the Commander’s tent ten minutes later, she entered to find him dutifully bent over his paperwork again, meticulously writing out instructions on a map. He looked up when he heard her come in, the half smile at her reappearance turning wary as she set the steaming mug on his desk. She managed to bite back her laughter, but only just.

“It’s not magical if that’s what you’re worried about,” she assured him in a jovial tone. “It’s just Dalish. We have many different herb blends that can assist you with a variety of common ailments, such as headaches or trouble sleeping. This one happens to do both. If you start sipping now, you’ll find your headache will ease within the hour. Keep sipping for the next few hours until you get to the bottom of the mug, and you’ll rest easier tonight. You can always drink faster for quicker results, too, but I’m guessing you have too much work to go to sleep this early.”

“Quite,” he responded. Without looking at her, he hesitantly lifted the mug and sniffed, then crinkled his nose a little bit.

“It does sort of smell like dirt,” she admitted, “but it just tastes of herbs. Oh, and I brought you these, too.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out the two pouches and walked around his desk to hand him one at a time. “This one is the tea you’re about to drink. If it works, you’ll be able to make it for yourself any time you like. Just place a pinch in boiling water and let it steep. The longer you let it steep, the more potent it will be. This other one is a special tree bark.”

He looked at the bag she handed him and then at her as if he might’ve misunderstood what she said. “Um - tree bark? Are you sure you’re not just trying to punish me for today?”

This time, she couldn’t hold back the laughter. The sound bounced brightly through the tent, clearing away any remaining dark thoughts or feelings between them.

“Well, it’s tempting but… No, the bark does have an actual purpose, I promise. Whenever you feel a headache coming on during the day, you can chew a small piece, and it will alleviate your symptoms without the drowsiness of the tea. Unfortunately, this one does both smell and taste a little like dirt.” She shrugged and leaned against the back of his desk to face him as he sat in his chair. “But it works.”

He sat up and swallowed hard as he held the small pouches in his hands. “What was it you said to me in the forest two days ago? Ma serannas. Ma mela ha… hali… It seemed to be some sort of extra thanks?”

“Ma melava halani. It is and old and… um...” She cleared her throat. “A friendly way of saying ‘you have helped me.’”

Cullen looked up at her, his eyes again full of that emotion she couldn’t quite place, and her breath quickened. “Ma serannas, Evana. Ma melava halani.”

He’d said her name. She wondered if he even realized he had. And the low, velvety tone of his voice speaking her native tongue in his typical Ferelden accent sent little thrills down her spine.

"Ma melava son ganem,” she said, her voice just above a whisper.

They stared at each other for a moment… then two… Then he cleared his throat and looked away.

“I’m sure these will be useful for me while you are away. I… I wish I had something to give you in return for your assistance, but unfortunately, all I have are mountains of paperwork.”

His dry tone crushed any lingering thoughts of reciprocated feelings. She’d simply imagined everything that had passed between them tonight. The reality of their situation settled over her, a shroud for the “more” that would never be. _Should never be_ , the voice reminded her. Shame burned her skin, punishing her for considering such a thing - such an affront to all she’d been taught - and for thinking a man like him could ever want someone like her. An elf. A _mage_.

She pushed aside the disappointment, however, and allowed herself to find relief in their continued friendship, even if it would make things more difficult when she finally left the Inquisition.

If she lived that long…

“And I’m afraid,” she shot back, “that for the next couple of weeks, I will only be adding to that mountain with reports of my dangerous exploits on the Storm Coast.”

They shared weak smiles, and Evana only hesitated a moment more before pushing off the desk. She tapped the top of the mug as she passed on the way out of his tent.

“Don’t forget to sip your tea as you work.”

 

**

 

The next day, Cassandra, Blackwall and Sera all joined her outside Haven’s gates to saddle their horses and prepare for the journey. However, to her surprise, the horses stood saddled and ready when she arrived at the stables.

“Good morning, Herald,” Dennet greeted her warmly. “I thought we should start acting like you’re an important person to this Inquisition. So, I plan to have your horses ready for you any time you leave Haven. When you return, simply hand the reigns to a stable hand, and they’ll take care of the rest. We don’t need Thedas falling into chaos because the Herald had to stop to groom her horse.”

Surprised but grateful nonetheless, Evana nodded. “Thank you, Dennet. That will be helpful.”

He nodded in return and resumed his duties with a “safe travels.” She began attaching her bags to the saddle, but Varric interrupted her before she could finish.

“So you’re really leaving without me this time, Snowflake? How will you survive without my exceptional combat and conversational skills?”

She laughed at him and stopped to put a hand on his shoulder. “Cullen said you’d be upset.”

“So it’s just Cullen, now? Something you care to share with the group?”

She withdrew her hand as if she’d been burned and scowled at him. “You want the truth, Varric?”

“Absolutely!”

“Then no, there’s nothing to share. Cullen and I are friends. We share similar viewpoints on many things and… mostly agree to disagree about our differences. Both of us enjoy afternoon walks. Sometimes we walk together, but sometimes one or the other of us is too busy. He’s a kind, generous man, and I enjoy his company. But there is _nothing_ going on between us.” She turned to finish adjusting her saddlebags, now speaking more to herself than the dwarf. “And what would be the point anyway? Do you think he would give up his work to go live in the forest? Not that my clan would allow him anyway. It is considered a high crime to even sleep with a non-elf, let alone have a … relationship with one.”

“So, you’re saying you two haven’t slept together?”

She twisted around with a gasp, her already pink cheeks now flaming red. “What!? No, of course not! We’ve never even…”

She stopped. No need to add fuel to the fire. But Varric picked up on the direction of her denial.

“You haven’t kissed, yet? Andraste’s dimpled butcheeks, I knew this might take a while, but you two are hopeless. He won’t shirk his duty. Your clan won’t accept him…” Varric crossed his arms and tapped his chin with a forefinger. “Ah! Star-crossed lovers! Maybe that’s even better than a mage and ex-templar love story…”

She huffed at him. “Do _not_ tell me all this is for one of your books! You know, you write fiction for a reason - just make it up! There’s no need for you to go playing around in people’s lives.”

Varric shrugged. “There is if it will make both their lives better in the end.”

“You don’t - you _can’t_ know that.”

“I suppose not,” he sighed, then winked. “But I don’t think I’ll give up on the idea quite yet.”

She just shook her head, deciding she’d be better off ending the conversation there. Despite everything, she would miss his company on this journey. He’d become a good friend as long as he _wasn’t_ talking about her love life - or lack thereof. What could she say to convince Varric that anything serious with Cullen would be impossible - would make it impossible for her to go home? And… she still wanted to go home. In the light of day, her foolishness from the night before reeked of selfishness. She would not shirk her duty to her clan and to the People.

“Goodbye for now, my friend,” she said, turning her attention back to Varric. “This should be a relatively short mission, and I promise to take you with me on the next.”

“Oh, goody. I get the mission with all the dangerous Venatori cultists!”

She simply smiled and shook her head at his theatrics. By this time, Blackwall and Sera had already gathered their horses and stood nearby. A few minutes later, she saw Cassandra and Cullen walking toward them from the direction of his tent. They were smiling, and it warmed her heart to see it.

The sun threatened to peek over the edge of the horizon by the time they all gathered at the gates. Cullen, even more stoic and controlled than usual this morning, assured her in a formal voice that he would send a contingent of soldiers after them to help maintain a presence at the Storm Coast. She returned his formal speech with a bow in an attempt to set him at ease, but the action only served to stiffen his posture further. She wondered nervously if she’d been obvious the night before. He said nothing more, however, so she left him to double check her bags and then mount her horse. Solas, the last to appear, bowed to her slightly as she prepared to leave. She urged her horse closer to where Cullen, Varric and Solas had gathered.

“Dareth shiral, lethallan,” Solas intoned. “Ane tel u.”

“Ma serannas, Solas,” she replied. Looking to Cullen, she pushed back on her nervousness and smiled. “Goodbye, ma falon. Don’t work too hard.”

He nodded his head slightly. “Farewell, my lady. I will pray for your safe return.”

Her smiled faded as she glanced at Varric, eyebrow raised. “And you…”

“Don’t worry, Snowflake. I’ll make sure your Commander takes a break now and then.”

She shook her head, her cheeks blazing in embarrassment. A glance at the Commander revealed a similar flush to his face. _Better go now before Varric says something truly mortifying_.

“Goodbye all. I shall return soon with The Iron Bull and his Chargers in tow… I hope!”

 

**

 

Other than Cassandra’s growing disgust of the elf from Val Royeaux and the rain that started the morning of their second day of traveling, the journey to the Storm Coast proved uneventful. By the time they reached the forward camp to speak with Scout Harding, Cassandra itched to kill something. Apparently, that was a good thing considering Harding’s report.

“There’s a group of bandits operating in the area,” Lace said with a grimace. “They know the terrain, and our small party has had trouble going up against them. Some of our soldiers went to speak with their leader. Haven’t heard back, though.”

Evana tried to smile reassuringly. “I’ll do everything I can to find our people.”

The dwarf’s face visibly brightened. “Thank you, Your Worship. That’s a relief. The soldiers didn’t have an exact location for the bandits, but they were starting their search farther down the beach.”

Evana took her leave and started down the hill toward the beach. So much for a simple recruitment mission.

As they approached the water, the unmistakeable sound of fighting crescendoed over the crashing waves. She quickened her pace and finally rounded a corner to see Krem, a large Qunari and several other well-appointed soldiers fighting with bandits. She called to Blackwall and Sera.

“Alright, this is how it goes. Any time we see danger, immediately gather to me. I will call down a barrier spell that will give you extra protection from attacks.” She quickly cast the spell around them. “Then, I will call out your targets using directional or relative words such as Blackwall take the bandit on the far right, Cassandra far left and work inwards. Sera and I will watch your flanks with ranged attacks. Let’s go!”

Cassandra and Blackwall hit their targets with fury. Sera and her killer bow remained farther back with Evana, and gradually, they picked off all the bandits with the help of what Evana could only guess were the Chargers. After giving his men orders to ensure all the bandits were dead, their leader, a giant Qunari who she also assumed was The Iron Bull, addressed her.

“So, you’re with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming.”

“Nicely done. I hear you’re looking for work?”

“I am. Not before my drink, though.”

He gave her a wink and nodded toward a rock a little further away from the rest of the party. As they sat down, Krem joined them.

“I assume you remember Cremisius Aclassi, my lieutenant?”

“Good to see you again.” Krem nodded to her then addressed The Iron Bull. “Throatcutters are done, chief.”

“Already? Have ‘em check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem.”

Krem shrugged. “None taken. At least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?”

She tried to hide a smile. If she hadn’t liked Krem before, she certainly did now. Krem’s backtalk didn’t phase The Iron Bull in the least, however, and he dove straight into negotiations.

“So… you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but we’re worth it. And I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

“The Chargers do seem like an excellent company.”

“They are, but you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me.” The Iron Bull stood up, as if to reinforce his height and size, and they began walking. “You need a frontline bodyguard, I’m your man. Whatever it is - demons, dragons - the bigger, the better. And there’s one other thing. It might be useful, and might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?”

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “I can’t say that I have.”

The Iron Bull nodded and stopped walking. He turned to face her and continued matter-of-factly.

“It’s a Qunari order. They handle information, loyalty, security, all of it. Spies, basically. Or well... _we’re_ spies. The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening. But I also _get_ reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.”

Evana gaped at him, nonplussed. “You’re a Qunari spy and you just… told me?”

“Whatever happened at that Conclave thing, it’s bad. Someone needs to get that Breach closed. So whatever I am, I’m on _your_ side.”

“But you still could have hidden what you are.”

“From something called the Inquisition?” The Iron Bull laughed. “I’d have been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it right up front, from me.”

She questioned him further on his reports back to the Ben-Hassrath as well as what their reports to him might contain. _This might be a good thing for Leliana as well as for my well-being_. He seemed well-informed, and she appreciated his honesty.

“Alright, you’ve impressed me. You’re in.”

“Excellent! Krem, tell the men to finish drinking on the road. The Chargers just got hired!” Then, turning to her, “We’ll meet you back at Haven.”

“Yes, we have a few more things to accomplish here. Before you leave, go see Scout Harding at the top of the hill and take any correspondence she has prepared with you to Haven.”

“Whatever you say, _boss_.”

Evana joined the rest of her party as the Chargers began packing up for the journey to Haven. Cassandra paced the rocky beach, clearly impatient to get moving.

“They have agreed? Good. Shall we move down the coast now? I have a bad feeling about these missing soldiers.” 

She had good reason to be nervous. They found the shack where the soldiers were being held and fought off the bandits, but they arrived too late to save any of their soldiers. They collected the personal effects of the soldiers and allowed themselves a moment to mourn. Then, after searching the cabin, they found instructions for an amulet that would allow her to challenge the leader of the bandits, a group called the Blades of Hessarian, in single combat.

“Well, it sounds like we need to collect some supplies. Where would one find deepstalker hide?”

Cassandra balked, unconvinced. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Herald? You are still recovering. We could come back later to deal with these bandits.”

“And leave more of our scouts and soldiers vulnerable to being captured and murdered? No, I can’t do that. Cassandra, I’m fine. My bruises have faded to almost nothing, and I’ve been drinking a healing tea for the last week. I’m not as fragile as I look. We’ll take some time to collect the supplies, and then I will craft the amulet. Once we have ousted the leader, the text says bandits should fall in line. We may even be able to recruit them for Inquisition purposes.”

Cassandra sighed and shook her head, but Blackwall came to the rescue. “I think the Herald’s plan is a good one, Lady Seeker. Challenging the leader means we shouldn't have to deal with any of the bandits on the way into their camp, so there's less chance of injury for everyone. Perhaps we can turn these bandits to some greater purpose.” Then turning to Evana, he continued. “Deepstalkers tend to hide away in dark places such as caves and dark ravines. If I remember rightly, there should be several caves along the coast where we can look for them.”

Sera's face twisted into disgust as Blackwall spoke. "Ewww! Dank caves with creepy crawlies all up in your underthings? My vote is with her Seekeriness... Let's not."

"Look, we talked about this before we left,” Evana huffed. “If we came across something that needed attention, we would deal with it. We're here, let's deal with this problem now."

Cassandra finally relented. “Very well, Herald.”

“Shite!” Sera squeaked. “Really? There’d better be pie in this for me.”

Evana laughed as they filed down the hill toward the coast. “I’ll make sure Flissa has a pie for you when we get back to Haven.”

Sera cocked an eyebrow. “A full one? All for me?”

“Yes, Sera. A whole pie, just for you - whatever flavor you like.”

Sera nodded. “Good. You know, you’re half alright... for an elf-y elf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made an attempt at some elven in this chapter based on the Dragon Age Wiki, [this great AO3 resource](http://archiveofourown.org/works/359253/chapters/582281) and [this elven translator](http://lingojam.com/ElvenDAI). The only one that I made up and won't explain in the next chapter is "Ane tel u" which is my attempt at "You are not alone." If I have any linguistic readers who can give me a better translation, I welcome feedback!
> 
> Next chapter, Varric is back to give Cullen a hard time about his "close" relationship with Evana.


	14. In which a writer takes liberties with the plot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's favorite meddler earns his keep.

Varric had spent the days since the Herald left catching up with merchant business. He now slouched beside his campfire, waiting for replies and in general feeling a bit bored. Although the summer days had turned cooler as fall approached, the midday sun warmed him through as he relaxed on his bench… but he itched for something more to do.

“As good a time as any to get some writing done, I suppose,” he said to Bianca.

As he gathered up his writing supplies, he saw the Commander walking slowly up the stairs with a letter in his hand and an uncharacteristically soft smile on his lips. Varric’s own lips turned up in a knowing smirk.

“Got a letter from the Herald, Curly?”

Cullen looked up at Varric in sheepish surprise, quickly folding the letter and shoving it into a pocket in his mantle. “I - uh - just a report from Storm Coast.”

“Written by Her Worship from the look on your face.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

“Oh, you know exactly what I’m saying,” Varric countered with a laugh. Cullen grunted and kept walking, but Varric had no intention of letting him get away. “Come on, Curly. It’s midday, we’re both hungry, and I promised Snowflake I’d make you take a break now and then.”

Cullen paused, “I really don’t have time-”

Varric shook his head, making a tsking noise at the Commander. “I guess I’ll just have to tell her worshipfulness that you wouldn’t take her advice. You really wanna deal with those consequences, buddy?”

Cullen looked like he might resist but then sighed heavily. “I suppose I do need to eat…”

“Good! Let’s go.”

They walked on down the path to the Singing Maiden, grabbed a plate and a mug of ale from Flissa and sat down at a table near the corner. The tavern pulsed with the ebb and flow of the noon crowd, most of the patrons there to eat a more appetizing meal than the standard Inquisition rations and rest before diving into afternoon activities. Varric let the Commander eat for a bit, but finally, he couldn’t contain his curiosity.

“Alright, I need an update. What’s our Herald up to? I haven’t heard anything since the Chargers brought back reports about the bandits and missing soldiers.”

Cullen took deep breath and looked at the dwarf warily. Finally, he pulled the letter out again and opened it. Varric noted the rounded forms of the Herald’s hand and the greeting “Ma falon” before Cullen turned it to catch the light better.

“She writes that they found the missing soldiers, but unfortunately, they were already dead.” He looked up briefly. “Cassandra included a list of the soldiers’ names, and I’ve written notes to alert the families. A sad business...”

“And not your fault, Curly. Read on.”

Cullen gave him a half smile and a nod before returning to the letter. “They spent yesterday hunting for the supplies for an amulet that will let them directly challenge the leader of the bandits, a group called the Blades of Hessarian, without requiring them to fight off all the bandits first. It required hunting and skinning the hide of a deepstalker. She says, and I quote, ‘If I’d known there would also be giant spiders living in these caves, I might have re-evaluated my plan - _shudder_.’”

Cullen paused for a chuckle, and Varric joined him. “So _that’s_ why she insisted on being in the middle of the group during that cave outing in the Hinterlands!”

“She is going to spend tomorrow curing the hide to prepare it,” he continued, laughter still permeating his voice, “and will hopefully have the amulet completed in the next two or three days. Apparently, the rain has been coming down constantly since they arrived, but Blackwall and Sera have been keeping her entertained with their banter. The rain hasn’t kept her from walking, but she can’t walk far from camp on her own and misses...”

Cullen’s voice trailed off, but he was clearly still reading, that soft smile back on his lips and joined by a tinge of red on his cheeks. _Andraste’s tits, he’s got it bad._

“You’re welcome,” Varric stated, watching Cullen closely for his reaction.

The comment had the desired effect. Cullen looked up with a puzzled expression on his face.

“What are you-”

“If it hadn’t been for my encouragement, she’d have never written you that first letter. So, I think you owe me a little thanks for your _very specific_ letter, Commander. By the way, what does ‘ma falon’ mean? It sounds like a pet name.”

Cullen cleared his throat, the red in his cheeks brightening. “How did you…?”

“She called you that the morning she left, remember? And I caught a glimpse of the greeting before you turned the letter away. It must be something specific, because I haven’t heard her use it for anyone but you.”

Cullen looked down at his plate, seeming to consider the dwarf’s words, then shook his head, “You may be right, but I... I don’t really know.”

A voice from behind them chimed in. “It simply means ‘my friend.’”

They both turned to see Solas sitting in the darkened corner of the tavern, an empty plate in front of him.

“Solas, what are you doing skulking back there? Come join us.”

Solas looked a little pained at Varric’s invitation, but he stood up to join them nonetheless. Varric noticed Cullen tense just a bit as the elf gracefully lowered himself into a chair at the end of the table.

“Apparently,” Solas remarked, “the Herald took to heart my recommendation to speak her native tongue more often. Has she... spoken to you in elvish often, then?”

Cullen shifted uncomfortably. “A few times. She’s mostly told me what they mean, except for… there was one phrase she used…”

“I would be happy to translate for you, Commander.”

Varric wondered briefly if the Commander would actually take Solas up on his offer. Curly had to be the most private person Varric had ever met, and despite the fact that he clearly fancied the Herald, Varric knew he wouldn’t want to talk about his personal interactions with her. It surprised him, then, when the Commander spoke again after a moment of contemplation. He must really be curious.

“She said ‘Ma melava son … errr… ganem.’ It was at the end of our conversation and after I had thanked her for... helping me with a problem.”

Solas’ brows shot up in surprise. Varric wanted to say something sarcastic about taking down the time and place of the moment Solas finally showed some sort of emotion on his face, but he remained silent. There would be time for that later. Right now, he wanted to know what the apostate had to say.

“I’m… surprised she would use that phrasing with you. It is an old way of saying ‘my time is spent well’ and is typically reserved for close friends and family… or lovers.”

Solas’ tone held a note of accusation, but Cullen, of course, either ignored it or remained genuinely oblivious to Solas' insinuation. “I - I’m glad to know she considers me a close friend.”

“Friend? Andraste’s ass!” Varric quipped.

Solas looked at him disapprovingly, and Varric realized that he’d seen more emotion from the elf in this one conversation than he had in all the weeks they’d traveled together. After Varric’s conversation with the Herald about getting to know Solas better, he’d done his best to learn more about the mage. He’d come to begrudgingly respect the elf’s broad range of knowledge on a wide variety of topics and immensely respect how Solas handled himself on the battlefield. Not that it mattered much. Varric’s gut still told him something wasn’t quite right with the apostate, and he had learned during his time in the merchant guild to trust that feeling when it came. It had saved his life more than once.

Cullen had become increasingly agitated after Varric’s outburst, and after carefully folding the letter and placing it in his mantle again, he stood up and bid them good day with the excuse that he had much work to do. To Varric’s surprise, Solas remained. Varric shoved his empty plate away and pulled his notebook from the seat beside him.

“You are writing about the Inquisition,” Solas said.

It was a statement, not a question. Varric dipped a quill in his pot of ink and scrawled the date at the top of the page.

“Yeah, and you know what I’m going to write about today? ‘Solas had emotions.’”

“You are quite droll, Varric, but I often have emotions. I prefer to subdue them, however, when possible. Showing emotion too freely can give your enemies an advantage over you.” Solas paused, and Varric almost turned away. But a moment later, the elf continued in a softer tone, “I have been alone for much of my life. It is… difficult for me to trust and rely on others.”

“I’ve noticed. I plan to write that, too.”

“I have heard your books are very popular, Master Tethras.”

“I do all right.”

Solas nodded, as if satisfied. “I am glad of it.”

Varric lifted an eyebrow. “Really? No sarcasm, no superior attitude?”

“We live in a dark and angry time, child of Stone. So much of what people believe has come crashing down. If you bring them a little peace with the worlds you make between the pages, you have done more than most.”

“Well… thanks. I do my best. But I think the words I write now will be less a fiction and more a history. Somebody’s got to write down things as they really are, not frilled up with Andrastian metaphors and with a rosy cast over everything. We’re making hard choices here. They might seem easy in retrospect, once this is all over, but I see how each day around that table takes it’s toll on our advisors… and on our Herald. She in particular wasn’t really prepared for this.”

“And yet she handles both her duty to fight and her duty to help make important decisions with grace and a startling amount of wisdom for one so… young.”

“That’s what you admire in her, right?”

Solas regarded the dwarf without flinching. “Of course, along with her many other admirable attributes. Don’t you?”

“She’s become a good friend, and I will protect her to the end because she is the only hope we’ve got of fixing all this.” Varric waved his hand around. “But I see her moments of doubt. She needs supportive friends, especially now, as she’s beginning to get the hang of all this Herald-y stuff. It must be hard to be the Herald of a religion you don’t believe in.”

Solas tilted his head slightly. “Aren’t you Andrastian?”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I can’t empathize.”

“Point taken. I am surprised, but glad to hear it. I will leave you to your writing, then.”

True to his word, Solas left the table to allow Varric more room to work. Varric watched him out of the corner of his eye until he disappeared through the tavern door. Solas was turning out to be a lot more complicated than even their Herald. _What’s with these Inquisition elves and their complicated personalities?_ Varric played his own devil’s advocate, reminding himself that, notwithstanding Daisy, he actually knew very little about elves, so they might just seem more complicated because he didn’t understand their culture well. He absently smiled as he thought of his old Dalish elf friend and then frowned as he recalled the fate of her clan. Even Marian Hawke, sarcasm queen and Champion of Kirkwall, hadn’t been able to talk her way out of that disaster.

Shaking his head, the dwarf got down to business. These thoughts weren’t going to write themselves, and he needed to get down what was in his head before it slipped away.

 

**

 

The following days brought one astonishing report after the next, and Varric began to understand what it must have been like for the advisors to read the reports from the Hinterlands and Fallow Mire. Every day revealed something new. A Hessarian leader challenged and bandits recruited as agents for Cullen. New rifts closed. More Grey Warden information found - though, unsettlingly, all the actual Grey Wardens still seemed to be missing. A sighting of a giant battling a dragon. More shards found. More people helped. She blew through the region like one of its cleansing storms, and instead of chaos, she left stability and hope in her wake. And with each surge of that powerful emotion, hope, she gained influence and goodwill for the Inquisition.

Impatience grew in his gut with every report. He itched to be there - to help and to witness it all. He’d been conscripted by Cassandra to speak at the Conclave, but when the sky blew open, Cassandra’s fight became his own - not that he’d ever tell the Seeker how invested he’d become in her cause. He missed Kirkwall, and his heart would always belong to that shit hole on the coast of the Waking Sea. But each step the Herald took toward closing the Breach made him more of a believer in the quiet elf with the magic, glowy hand. Perhaps she had been sent by Andraste after all.

He couldn’t be with her every time, though, so he used his extra energy and restlessness to write down how he imagined the encounters had played out. He'd verify the details with her later.

Finally, word came by crow that the region seemed stable for the moment and the whole party had left for Haven. They would arrive sometime the following day, and after so much time apart, Varric experienced a kind of eagerness to see his friend again he hadn't felt in a long time - not since he’d last had a chance to meet up with Hawke. He hoped to find Snowflake in a good mood when she got back because he planned to buy her a drink. In fact, a little homecoming gathering of new friends at the tavern sounded like a grand idea.

Yes, and he’d make sure Curly made an appearance, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter, but I do love writing from Varric's POV. He's such a great character, and it still disappoints me that we couldn't romance him in any of the games.
> 
> Next chapter is Cullen's POV and will feature even more Captain Rylen, which I'm excited to share. :)


	15. In which lack of lyrium brings about confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen sacrifices his pride to be a better Commander. Does anyone really expect anything less? :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, we get to see more of Rylen in this chapter, and I had a ton of fun writing him. I'm seriously contemplating that Rylen fic...

Cullen’s breath fogged in the cool air as he trudged through new snow, reluctantly turning his steps toward the tavern. Varric had demanded Cullen make an appearance at the home-coming party for the Herald, but he would much rather be working than wasting time in a tavern full of people. Only the fact that _she_ would be there had swayed him.

The first storm of the fall season had left the mountainside covered in a thick layer of snow and had also delayed the return of the Herald and her companions. After several days stuck in the foothills of the Frostbacks, she’d arrived in Haven only yesterday and planned to leave again the day after tomorrow for a dangerous and, to him, foolish bid to ally with the mages in Redcliffe. At the war council convened soon after her arrival, he’d pushed as hard as he could for the templars. But Lady Lavellan stuck to her plan to ally with the mages and would not be moved. Normally, he would find such constancy admirable. Tonight, however, he could only be frustrated by the enormous danger she would unnecessarily take on in order to recruit the mages. A Tevinter Magister presented no small quarry, and to put herself up as bait while Leliana’s agents attempted to penetrate one of the most fortified castles in Ferelden? Madness - even with the help of a stuck-up, arrogant, swaggering Tevinter mage who _claimed_ to be on their side. But Leliana and Josephine had supported the Herald. Outnumbered, he’d accepted the decision of the council whether or not he agreed with it.

The biggest surprise of the meeting came when Cassandra refused to put up much of a fight in the face of Lady Lavellan’s defiance. Perhaps she still felt the sting of the Lord Seeker’s treatment of them in Val Royeaux. Cullen understood. It distressed him, as well. But it also encouraged him all the more to look into the plight of the templars. He knew they weren’t all happy with the Lord Seeker’s actions, and some, if not most, might be turned to support the greater purpose of the Inquisition. The council had, however, made a decision, and he could only pray for his comrades that they would see the light as he, Rylen and Lysette had. In fact, they already had a good many defectors from the Order in their camp, strong and capable soldiers, but they didn’t have enough to help close the Breach.

He reached the door to the tavern and paused to pinch the bridge of his nose. The annoying hum of the headache he’d been fighting all afternoon buzzed mildly in his ears.

_You shouldn’t go tonight. You should be staying as far away from the Herald as possible._

On top of everything, his inner voice still put up a fight every time he so much as thought of her. In fact, after their conversation the night before she left for the Storm Coast and the one or two benign letters they’d exchanged during her absence, it became more persistent. However, he’d become better and better at ignoring it. She attracted him like a moth to the flame, and in this moment, he didn’t care if he got burned. He merely wanted to be in her presence, to see her smile, to hear her laugh.

_That is all it can ever be, but it’s enough… It has to be._

Opening the tavern door, he immediately saw the Herald with all her companions, as well as Josephine and Leliana, sitting around a large table at the back. The headache kicked up a notch as the wave of boisterous tavern sounds hit him. Trying to be inconspicuous, he drew up a chair in the far corner, exactly on the farthest end of the table from the Herald. Despite his intentions, exclamations from around the table and an admonition from Varric welcomed him.

“Took you long enough, Curly.”

“My apologies. I was delayed by some new reports.”

Leliana gave him a knowing look but thankfully said nothing. From the other end of the table, a raised voice caught his attention.

“So, Commander, I would ask if you approve of our plan, but I already know the answer to that.”

Cullen looked down the table at the speaker - the foppish, mustachioed mage, Dorian. He sat next to the Herald, leaning back in his chair while holding a cup of wine. The Iron Bull, most definitely already drunk, slapped the table.

“I like this new guy of yours, Herald. Where did you say you picked him up?”

The Herald laughed nervously and her clear, smooth voice hummed pleasantly in Cullen’s ears, even as he eyed the dark-haired man suspiciously.

“I suppose I should make introductions. This is Dorian Pavus - the one who helped me in Redcliffe. I sent word to him when we were preparing to leave the Storm Coast so that he could be part of our mission to ally with the mages.”

Looking around as the companions gave Dorian their greetings, Cullen saw he wasn’t the only one wary of the Tevinter mage. Cassandra eyed him up and down as if she were getting ready to skin him alive.

“Pleased to meet you all,” Dorian said as he leaned forward in his chair and wrapped an arm around the Herald. Leaning in close to her he said in a loud whisper, “Though I have to say that you’re still my favorite of the bunch, my dear.”

Cullen blinked, nonplussed at the blatant display, and his gut clenched as he saw the blush that rose to her cheeks. He glowered in his seat a few moments, but conversations had already started up again around the table. He found himself drawn into a debate between Sera and Solas about the usefulness of magic that quickly escalated to Sera demanding that Cullen back her up, but Sera’s main argument seemed to be that it “wigged her out” and it made elves like Solas “too elf-y.” Cullen answered carefully, but the cool look of disapproval from Solas told Cullen he’d failed to be properly neutral.

Throughout the next hour, Cullen had to keep himself from turning his head to the other end of the table countless times. A few times, he’d been unable to help himself as he would hear a small, bell-like trill that he’d occasionally heard around the war table and knew to be the Herald’s uncomfortable laugh. In these moments, he would try to catch her eye, putting as much sympathetic understanding into the look as possible. She would look back at him with… something… in her eyes, and his breath would catch in his throat. After one such moment, she suddenly scooted back in her chair and stood up.

“Thank you all for coming and thanks for arranging this whole thing, Varric, but I’m actually very tired. Please don’t feel that you need to stop on my behalf. I’m glad you’re all getting to know one another better.”

After a wane smile, she hurried out the tavern door. It took everything he had not to follow her, so he instead followed her with his eyes. Turning back to the table, he saw Varric, sitting two seats down and across the table, give him a wink. He shot the dwarf a mild look of warning and absently wondered why Varric so intently ribbed him about the Herald. Was he doing the same thing to her? With his boast of getting her to write the first letter, which could be supported by the Herald’s own postscript, he had to assume so. Was he gunning for a love story to fill out his history of the Inquisition?

The thought had been fleeting, but the more he mulled over it, the more he believed it to be at least part of the reason. The conniving dwarf had decided to mess around with their personal lives for a plot line in a story… And he just happened to be the lucky pick for leading man? _Wonderful_.

His head began to pound in earnest, and he nearly braved the risk of seeming to follow too quickly after the Herald when the conversation shifted… to her.

“So,” Dorian drawled, “what can you all tell me about your little elven Herald? Do you all let her keep to herself this much on a regular basis?”

Cullen’s gut clenched again over Dorian’s overt interest in her. First an elven mage, now a Tevinter one, too. He had to admit, though, that Dorian Pavus was an exceptionally good-looking and charismatic man. Cullen tensely waited to see if anyone answered, and Varric, always one for sport, quickly took the bait.

“She’s just shy. I gather it’s probably hard for you to understand, but you should have seen her before I got a hold of her. Didn’t do anything but hang out at the blacksmith’s and talk walks out in the forest...”

Varric paused, giving Cullen a sidelong glance. Cullen sent him the darkest look he could manage in return. The dwarf left it alone. _Thank the Maker._

“Now she at least sits awkwardly around a table with us for a full hour before bolting off to do whatever Herald-y things she does by herself,” Varric continued. “Sometimes she’s even worse than Curly over here.”

Well, it wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t a rib at his walks with the Herald. He’d take it.

Dorian’s eyes immediately fell on the Commander, but he didn’t get a chance to speak before Sera took up the conversation. She whipped a spoon around in the air above her head, which she’d been using until recently to eat a giant pie, apparently single-handedly.

“Yeah, she’s a little into herself, ain’t she? I mean, she isn’t bad for an elf-y elf, not quite so stuck up her arse like you, Solas.” Solas merely gave her a disdainful look. “But she didn’t talk much except when rattlin’ on about boring battle plans and strategies. And the whole time, we was out there in rain, muckin’ about, everybody getting their knickers in a twist over massive spiders and the giant fighting that dragon. Well, ‘cept when she’d talk to her seekeriness over there.”

Cassandra held up her hands. “We happen to have things in common - mostly a strong sense of doing what is right. We have also spent a majority of the last few months together. I respect her, even if I do not always understand her ways. And you have seen her fight now. Would you truly care to cross her?”

The Iron Bull’s voice cut above everyone as he pounded on the table. “Wait, wait, wait! Let me get this straight. You saw a _dragon_ ? And you _didn’t_ fight it?”

Sera just shrugged, her mouth already gaping with pie once more. At the sight, Cullen’s stomach lurched unpleasantly, and a sharp flare of pain stabbed at his temple. A mild queasiness took up residence in his gut, and he looked away from Sera, vaguely disturbed by his own reaction. He’d never had a weak stomach before.

After a short pause, Varric rounded on Cullen. “Have you anything to say about our lovely Herald?”

Cullen narrowed his eyes at the dwarf and then shook his head. “Not a thing. Perhaps Josephine can enlighten you all.” He turned to address the ambassador, “You have been giving her lessons in diplomacy, correct?”

Josephine smiled demurely at his redirection. “She is a quick and apt student, and I’ve noticed improvements in her dealings with people already. But you must understand that it is a strain for her to be around so many people. She does fine in small groups, but large groups... “ Josephine paused. “I actually think tonight was an exemplary idea, Varric. We must get her accustomed to being in crowds. The longer the Inquisition goes on, the more dignitaries and nobles will be visiting us…”

 

Sera let out a loud groan of disgust and slid down in her chair. Cullen couldn’t tell if it the groan came more from Josephine’s comment or from her consumption of copious amounts of pie. Probably a bit of both. After a moment and a raised eyebrow, Josephine continued.

“As I was saying, more of them will be visiting us, and she will need to be at least somewhat comfortable in a crowd. I can teach her to look it, but it would be much better if she actually didn’t feel the strain quite so much.”

Dorian and Varric both responded at once. “Done!”

They looked at each other, and much to Cullen’s dismay, he saw what looked like a tacit accord struck between them. Dorian reached out his hand, and Varric shook it. He might need to warn Lady Lavellan that her “friends“ - new and old - planned to gang up on her.

He looked down the table to where Leliana sat quietly. She’d been watching the Tevinter mage closely since his abrupt interruption of the war council earlier today. Although she let nothing show on her face, Cullen could see the gears turning. Since the day the Herald returned from her first outing in Redcliffe, Leliana had dug up as much information as possible about Gereon Alexius and, in conjunction, his former apprentice, Dorian Pavus. She had shared with them in the last week that she’d learned nothing to contradict what Dorian and Felix told them. In fact, the more she dug into the Venatori cult angle, the more concerned she became that any delay in dealing with the mage situation would result in disaster.

Alexius had finally sent the Herald an invitation to come _alone_ to parlay on the matter of mages to close the Breach. It reeked of such an apparent trap, it left them wondering how to proceed. Leliana would be risking her agents’ lives in the hands of Dorian, whose knowledge of Alexius’ magic defenses would assist them in infiltrating the castle. The spymaster must think him somewhat trustworthy, but then Leliana had always had a soft spot for mages.

The sharp pain returned, causing him to wince, but this time, the pain did not subside. The conversation turned again to more mundane matters, and Cullen took the opportunity to slip out almost unnoticed. Varric, of course, gave him a small salute, because… well, Varric never missed anything.

Despite the cool night air, things accelerated quickly from there. His head remained crushed in a vice grip of pain, twisting tighter with each step. The queasiness that began as he sat around the table suddenly morphed into full-on nausea. Even the thought of swallowing his own saliva made his stomach lurch. Cullen felt a mild tingle in his lips and cheeks. How many mugs of ale did he drink, anyway? Not enough for him to feel like this - the unpleasant tingle felt nothing like the numbness he recalled from the few times he’d had too much to drink. As he fought the queasiness in his gut, he found himself wondering where Ev- Lady Lavellan had gone. He’d run out of the bark she’d given him two days ago. Despite the taste, it did what it was supposed to, but without it...

Suddenly, his stomach lurched. He _knew_ he hadn’t had that much ale. As the snow crunched beneath his feet, he felt another wave of nausea wash over him. He needed to get outside the gates - to the forest.

At the bottom of the steps leading to the gates, however, Cullen veered to the left between a fence and wagon as a powerful wave overcame him. He could hold back no longer. He wretched until he could wretch no more, but the nausea kept coming, and waves of pain shot through his head, spiking through his whole body. He tried to move forward but fell to his knees holding one hand on the side of the fence for support, eyes closed and doubled over, and praying that whatever this was would either kill him or leave him be.

After a few more minutes, the nausea began to recede, and he opened his eyes. He crawled to another spot, away from the mess he’d made, and cupped snow in his hands, waiting for it to melt a little bit. He then rubbed the slush over his face, taking in a little bit to rinse his mouth. Another wave lurked in the depths of his gut, threatening to hit him at any time, but he knelt there in the snow, muscles shaky and weak, screaming pains shooting through his skull, until he felt like he could stand again. None of the guards seemed to notice - or they politely looked away - as he finally shuffled slowly back to his tent.

_What in the Maker’s name was that?_

When Cassandra approached him almost a year ago to join their fledgling Inquisition, he’d agreed to join on the condition that he be allowed to stop taking lyrium - or at least attempt it. Cassandra assented on the condition that he would keep her informed about his symptoms. After the initial, painful lyrium withdrawal that had kept him delirious and bedridden for two weeks, the symptoms had become less severe. As the days went by, however, he experienced headaches more frequently. Now, he feared he’d discovered yet another phase in his withdrawal.

Cullen shuddered, partly from the cold, wet snow seeping into his armour and partly from the idea of _that_ becoming a regular part of his withdrawal experience. He tried to think back through the fog in his brain. Did he drink any of the tea lately? No. Despite the fact he’d slept better than he had in years after drinking the tea she gave him, he’d only made it one or two other times. As he entered his tent and slowly removed his armor, he placed a small kettle on top of his stove. All his muscles - every part of his body - felt shaky and weak. It took him three times longer than normal to remove his armor, so by the time he had finished and scooped some of the tea leaves from the pouch into a mug, the kettle sang on the fire. He sat heavily in his chair and watched as the leaves swirled in the water, and the scent of herbs and earth filled his tent. _Her_ scent.

He hated feeling so weak. It was bad enough that the headaches distracted him, though the last few weeks with Lady Lavellan’s tree bark had left him feeling more like himself. Captain Rylen told him even the troops noticed his improved mood and energy. Should he ask her for more? He had a brief, silent battle within himself, but in the end, he knew that the Inquisition needed him to be at the top of his game. If that meant sacrificing a little bit of his pride, so be it. Obviously it might also save his pride in the end. He certainly wouldn’t be repeating his ill-advised interruption of Cassandra’s lessons, even if the jealousy did eat away at him. He knew his unprofessional and inappropriate outburst had been partly fueled by a long day full of stress and not attending to the building headache… that and forcing himself to stay away from her. He pushed the thought away and took a sip of the still steaming tea.

As he continued to sip, his screaming headache faded into a dull hum in his temples. His stomach began to settle as well. Holding onto the mug, he stood from the desk slowly, groaning as his abdominal muscles protested the movement. For the first time, Cullen internally thanked Josephine for insisting on a real bed for his semi-permanent quarters after seeing his bedroll on the floor. He lowered himself down slowly until he perched on the side of the bed. Still holding the mug, he rested it on his thigh and brought his other hand up to massage his temples.

_Thank the Maker this happened at night and not in the middle of a training exercise._

If he could keep up a regimen of tea and tree bark, maybe he could stave off the worst of the effects during the day. It was worth a shot. Perhaps he would also ask her if the Dalish had an herbal cure for upset stomach, though he knew that might worry her. He had never felt more vulnerable than he did with her - blue-violet eyes that seemed penetrate all his defenses and make his face reveal things he would far rather keep hidden from her. Well, from everyone, really... but especially from her.

He raised the mug to his lips and took one final swig, avoiding the leaves as he eked out every drop. Placing the mug on the floor, he slipped into the cool bed and sighed. The aches and pains seeped from his body, and within a few moments, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

**

 

Cullen woke to the sound of Captain Rylen’s voice outside his tent.

“Commander? Are you - is everything alright, ser?”

Still groggy, it took him a moment to process his surroundings. The sound of metal clashing against metal filled his ears, and a bright, warm glow illuminated his tent.

Suddenly, he bolted upright in bed, and his still sore abdominal muscles protested painfully. He couldn’t help the hiss of pain nor the curse that escaped his lips. Full sun pounded against the side of his tent, which meant he’d slept at least an hour if not more after sunrise... _Maker’s breath!_ He’d been asleep for more than ten hours.

“Can I help you in any way, Commander?”

Right. Rylen still stood outside the tent.

“Come in, Captain,” Cullen called.

The other man entered immediately. He took off his helmet and walked over to stand beside Cullen’s bed. Regarding his Commander for a moment as Cullen swung his legs gingerly off the side of the bed, Rylen finally spoke.

“Permission to speak freely, Commander?”

Cullen closed his eyes and groaned again as he attempted to stand and failed miserably. Opening one eye, he glared at the former templar.

“When do you _not_ speak freely?”

Rylen’s lips twitched as if he were fighting off a grin. “About tactical issues, it’s true I give my opinion rather freely, ser. But this is a far cry from tactical.”

Cullen let a long pause hang between them before he finally nodded. “Granted, Captain, but don’t make me regret it.”

Rylen responded immediately. “You look like shit, ser. How much did you drink last night?”

Cullen continued to glare at his captain and held out one hand as he placed the other over his aching stomach muscles. “Have the decency to help your Commander out of bed, will you? Have the morning exercises begun?”

Rylen took Cullen’s arm and hauled him up. Cullen cringed but refused to let another groan slip out.

“Yes, ser. All is going on as normal, but…” Cullen looked at him expectantly, and after a moment, he continued. “The troops are wondering where you are. You’re usually up well before them. Also, more I look at you, the less you look like you’re hungover and the more you look like you got into a fight… with a dragon. You sure you’re alright?”

Cullen grimaced as he pulled on his outer armor. “I didn’t get in a fight, nor am I hungover.”

“Then what…”

“I stopped taking lyrium when I joined the Inquisition.” Cullen finished buckling his cuirass and risked a glance up at Rylen. “Some days are better than others.”

The Captain’s face turned ashen. His dark facial tattoos stood out starkly against his paled skin, and his blue eyes alternated between disbelief and horror. Cullen looked away to fasten his vambraces. After a few, silent moments, Rylen’s hushed voice filled the tent.

“You stopped? Completely? And you’re not dead? I knew you were tough, but this is… … _Fuck_. Does anyone else know?”

“Cassandra and I have an understanding. She has agreed to keep an eye on me. I will tell Cassandra of the episode later today. I’m telling you now because… this was the worst one since the initial withdrawal, and I can’t begin to know how bad they will get in the future. I don’t expect anyone else to follow this example - the Inquisition will continue to supply lyrium for any former templars working for us.”

Rylen nodded but didn’t say anything. Cullen didn't know what else to say, so he just continued to put on his armor. Finally, Rylen seemed to recollect himself and walked to the door. Before he lifted the flap, however, he turned back to Cullen.

“For what it’s worth, Commander, I respect and admire your decision… I wish I had the guts. I’ll let the troops know you’ve been catching up on some correspondence this morning but will be out to inspect their work shortly.”

Cullen had stopped mid buckle when Rylen spoke and swallowed hard before looking up. “Thank you, Captain. And I’m sure this goes without saying, but I’d prefer to keep this just between us.”

“Of course.”

Rylen nodded a farewell and left Cullen to finish putting on his armor. Cullen winced as he leaned down to buckle the greaves to his mail-lined leather breeches. _I wonder if it’s too early for the Herald to be up._

Exiting his tent, he breathed in the fresh air, letting it fill his lungs. His muscles ached, but the crisp air felt good on his skin. He ran his hands through his hair, smoothing down the rogue curls that had escaped his usual style, but even with his extra sleep last night, he could tell it would be a trying day. The recruits were half-way through their morning exercises with the more seasoned soldiers, and he sensed the change in the atmosphere when he appeared. After walking up and down the line a couple of times, correcting the form of several of the newer members, he nodded to Rylen and walked up the hill toward Haven. Before he could reach the gates, however, he heard Lady Lavellan call to him.

“Good morning, Commander!”

She walked toward him from Harritt’s, her typical coat and breeches missing and a flowing elven robe and leggings in their place. The bright white fabric, adorned with gray and green sashes and belts and glints of silver embellishments, clung to her like a second skin, bringing out the violet in her eyes. The leggings were similarly decorated as were the long gloves that reached past her elbows. She looked like heaven itself. He reached up to rub the back of his neck, fighting the heat of a blush lingering in his chest area.

“G-good morning, my lady. You look...” _Maker!_ He’d been about to say beautiful... “refreshed this morning.”

“Thank you.” She looked down at herself and gave a short laugh. “These robes came from my clan with a note from Keeper Deshanna that they were to ‘help me remember home.’”

Cullen’s heart dropped, but he kept his face neutral. Home… in the Free Marches. She wouldn’t be here with them forever. Once she closed the Breach, she would leave. How had he forgotten?

Her voice dropped as if she were talking to herself. “I wondered why she asked about the weather in Haven. Apparently, I’ll blend in better with the snow this way.” She looked up and gave him a wide smile. “Regardless, I thought I’d try a day without armor for once.”

“Armor everyday isn’t _so_ bad once you get used to it,” he joked weakly.

He tried to smile, but she had been studying his face while he spoke. Her expression turned serious.

“Are you feeling well, ma falon?” she queried in a lower, softer tone. “You look as if… you’re in pain? Did your headache return?”

As he feared, his face presented an open book. At least it gave him an opening.

“Uh, yes. I’ve been having more headaches. I’m afraid I’ve run out of the tree bark, but it helped immensely. You wouldn’t happen to have any more?”

Her expression morphed into deep concern as she continued to study him, but she said nothing immediately. He resisted the urge to shift under her scrutiny. Finally, she shook her head.

“I don’t have more of that particular bark, but I think if you went through it that quickly, we’ll need to up our game. I’ll write back to Keeper Deshanna and ask her to send us something better. In the meantime, I can make up a version of the tea that doesn’t have the calming effect, just the pain relief. It will have the added benefit of not seeming like medication. It won’t work as quickly as a draught, though, so remember to brew it as soon as you feeling a headache coming on.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he said with a grateful bow. “That would be much appreciated.”

She looked around them quickly then trained her eyes on him again. “Cullen, is something… wrong?”

He gazed at her standing proudly in the dress of her people, concern marring her otherwise lovely face. She looked happy, confident and collected - as he imagined she would look as the Keeper of Clan Lavellan. He knew without a doubt that she would leave the Inquisition as soon as they closed the Breach. Cassandra had things under control. Telling the Lady Lavellan now would only worry her for no reason.

“Nothing I cannot handle or that will affect my duties as Commander at the present, that I promise you.”

She looked a little relieved, but he could see the doubt lingering on her features. “Well… I should get to work on that tea. It shouldn’t take long. I’ll bring it by later this morning after my briefing with Dorian and Leliana and before my sparring lesson with Cassandra.”

Then, dropping an adorable curtsy and laughing awkwardly at herself, she set off to her quarters with a wave and a soft “until later.” Cullen watched her go, and then cursed himself yet again for his weakness. She should be spending the day preparing for the dangerous mission ahead, not preparing tea for him.

“Maker’s breath!” he hissed under his breath.

 _No, that is your pride talking._ The medicinal tea would help him concentrate, help him be a better commander. To honor his duty to the Inquisition and to the people of Thedas, he would do anything necessary, even if it meant showing her his weakness. He resolutely turned back toward the practice fields and to the men and women waiting for his instruction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the "confession" you were hoping for? Mwahaha! But seriously, this story mostly sticks with canon, so we're still a ways off from _that_ kind of confession.
> 
> Next chapter is half Redcliffe and half angsty Cullen and Evana fluff! We're almost to the Breach, y'all!


	16. In which a Herald finds something worth fighting for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaken by the events at Redcliffe, Evana finds herself unable to contemplate leaving after the Breach is closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all you 'murikans, Happy Thanksgiving! For those non-'murikans, happy Wednesday. Have another chapter. I have four days off in a row for the holiday, so be on the lookout for at least one if not TWO chapters this weekend.

_If you go in there, you’ll die, and we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won’t allow it!_

Cullen’s initial, passionate denial of her plan during their final war council meeting echoed over and again in her head as she slogged through the dank dungeons of Redcliffe Castle. She had to admit he’d been right, no matter how it rankled her pride. She’d been so sure of herself, confident in her ability to take down Alexius. Now, they might be lost in time forever, and Thedas would pay the price for her mistake.

If she made it back from this, if she and Dorian could somehow get back and stop Alexius, she vowed to submit to any lecture Cullen would deign to give her. If only she could see him - see _all_ of them - again.

Dorian had deflected the spell Alexius hurled at them as best he could, but he could only do so much with such powerful magic. The original spell, he’d said, was meant to make sure she never existed - to make sure she would never be there to interrupt the “Elder One” and his plans at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Dorian had saved her life, but they’d still gotten sucked somewhere else in time, likely the future. How far into the future they could not tell. Their only hope was to find Alexius, if he was even still here… wherever “here” was, and force him to send them back.

As they wandered the deeper levels in search of a way out, they came across Grand Enchanter Fiona locked in a cell. Spikes of glowing red erupted from her body in places, encased it in others. Evana’s voice pitched high with horror, and she asked the question even as her subconscious whispered the terrifying answer.

“Is that… red lyrium growing from your _body_? How!?”

“The longer you’re near it… eventually… you become this,” Fiona responded weakly. “Then they mine your corpse for more.”

Evana recoiled at the enchanter’s words, a wave of nausea rolling through her. Dorian seemed less affected, however, and continued to question Fiona.

“Can you tell us the date? It’s very important.”

“Harvestmere… 9:42 Dragon.”

“Nine forty- _two_? Then we’ve missed an entire year!

A spark of anger burned away the sick feeling in her stomach. She shoved a hand through her short, unruly locks and growled in frustration.

“A year! We have to get out of here - go back in time and fix all this!”

“Yes. Please, stop this from happening,” Fiona pleaded breathlessly. “Alexius serves the Elder One... more powerful than the Maker. No one challenges him… and lives.”

“I promise you, Fiona,” Evana vowed as she moved forward, knuckles white from grasping the bars of Fiona’s cell, “I will do everything in my power to set things right. To make sure this never happens to you. To anyone.”

“Our only hope is to find the amulet that Alexius used to send us here,” Dorian offered. “If it still exists, I can use it to open a rift at the exact spot we left… maybe.”

Fiona nodded. “Good.”

“I said _maybe_ ,” he cautioned. “It might also turn us into paste.”

Fiona looked at them with desperation. “You must try. Some of your companions are here. And your spymaster, Leliana… she is here, too. Go now. Find her! Quickly… before the Elder One… learns you’re here.”

Evana reluctantly left the dying grand enchanter in her cell, her thoughts now echoing the enchanter’s words instead of Cullen’s. Evana solidified her vow to Fiona by making a promise to herself as well. She would find this “Elder One,” stop him and fix this. Whatever it took, she would make sure none of her newly found friends ever had to go through this.

Or she would die trying.

She nearly crumpled when they found Varric and Cassandra locked in another wing of the dungeons. Both were riddled with red lyrium, red eyes glowing in disbelief as they gazed upon her. Her own eyes brimmed with tears as she blew open their cell doors. She gazed at her companions - her _friends_ \- as they told her about the past year, and all thoughts of being an outsider, of not truly being a part of the Inquisition, faded. Varric and Cassandra looked at her not as worshippers seeing a risen Herald, but as friends seeing a dear one long thought dead.

Their weakened state, however, only served to strengthen her resolve. A tumult of emotions raced through her - shock, overwhelming sadness, sickness, horror, terror - but that spark of anger grew inside her, too. And right now, anger served her much better that any of those other emotions. Her eyes narrowed as they fought their way up another level, her staff sending wave after wave of fire and ice at those who stood between her and setting this right.

The fire inside burned brighter. Determination settled heavy on her shoulders, and she relished the weight.

They found Leliana up several levels, as the grand enchanter had said. At first site of the mutilated face of her spymaster, the flame of anger turned quite suddenly into a raging fire.

And even still, Leliana’s slow, quiet rage chilled Evana to the core. After dispatching her own torturer after Evana’s entrance startled him, the spymaster suited up for battle, no questions asked.

“Come,” she beckoned, “the magister is probably in his chambers.”

Surprise registered on Dorian’s face. “You aren’t curious how we got here?”

“No,” came Leliana’s short reply.

Despite her answer Dorian continued. “Alexius sent us into the future. This - his victory - his ‘Elder One’ - it was never meant to be.”

Leliana’s face remained impassive.

“If we get back to the present and stop Alexius, then you’ll never have to go through this,” Evana added quietly.

“And mages always wonder why people fear them…” Leliana’s horribly scarred face contorted as she spoke, venom dripping from every word. “ _No one_ should have this power.”

Dorian tried again. “It’s dangerous and unpredictable. Before the Breach, nothing we did-”

“Enough!” Leliana spat out at him through mangled lips. “This is all pretend to you, some future you hope will never exist! But I suffered. The whole world suffered. It was real!”

Without another word, Leliana left them to follow or not. They silently trailed behind her, and all the while, Evana stoked her rage higher with thoughts of what Leliana must have endured in the past year. She had not come to know the spymaster as well as her companions, or even as well as Cullen or Josephine, but Evana could not abide torture. Alexius would pay for the horrors he’d inflicted on her people.

The thought gave her a moment’s pause, but she pushed away the hesitance. Perhaps they would not always be so, but right now, these _were_ her people. She would protect them as she hadn’t her clan. Hope whispered to her of atonement, and she clung desperately to the sweet words despite knowing, deep down, that it would never be enough to erase the chains of guilt woven into her soul.

They eventually fought their way up to Alexuis’ chambers, but the ancient door was locked. Dorian huffed dramatically.

“Well, the servants must have a way through. He has to eat. Let’s look around.”

Fighting through the upper level, they picked up shards of red lyrium off the bodies of Venatori agents that, when combined, opened the door. The Alexius they now faced, however, bore little resemblance to the one they’d left in the past. Only when Leliana slit the throat of a barely human Felix - despite Evana’s protest - did Alexius fight them. His own rage fueled a grueling fight, but Evana’s flame burned brighter with equal parts anger and desperation.

Finally, Alexius fell. They put away their weapons and stared at the broken body of the once proud magister.

“He wanted to die, didn’t he?” Dorian murmured to himself. “All those lies he told himself… the justifications. He lost Felix long ago and didn’t even notice. Oh, Alexius.”

Evana could feel no such remorse. One look in the eyes of her gathered friends wiped all thought of pity from her mind. Dorian had known him before, however, and she could understand his sorrow at such a wasted life.

Dorian sighed heavily and then knelt down to check Alexius’ body while Evana prayed to the Creators and the Maker and anyone else who might listen and take pity on them. Then… miracle of all miracles…

“Here! This is the same amulet he used before. I think it’s the same one we made in Minrathous. That’s a relief. Give me an hour to work out the spell he used, and I should be able to reopen the rift.”

Leliana ran to them, a desperate tinge to her voice. “An hour! That’s impossible. You _must_ go now!”

All at once, the screech of a dragon filled the air and the castle shook, loosing rocks and stones all around them.

“The Elder One,” Leliana whispered, her voice full of despair.

Cassandra and Varric looked at each other then, and Evana’s heart plummeted. She knew without a doubt that they planned to sacrifice themselves for her, to give her time.

“I can’t let you kill yourselves for me! There must be another way!”

“Look at us,” Leliana countered. “We’re already dead. The only way we live is if this day never comes. Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows.”

She watched them leave, her former anger dissolving into numb resignation in the face of losing her friends. It might be merely a vision of the future, but as Leliana had said, it was real to them. It felt real to _her_ in this moment. As if sensing Evana’s hesitance, Leliana sent a piercing glance over her shoulder, and Evana’s feet turned, albeit sluggishly, toward Dorian. They must succeed now or die.

“Tell me how I can help,” she offered automatically.

Her voice sounded mechanical in her own ears. Dorian glanced up at her and then nodded.

“Yes, right, you’re a mage… alright, first, cast a calming spell so I can keep my hands from shaking without using up my mana. Then, keep up a barrier so no debris falls into our spell. I do love being right, but in this case, I’d rather _not_ be right about the ‘turn us into paste’ bit.”

Before he finished speaking, she’d brought down a calming spell over them both. She instantly felt the tension in her muscles slip away, but the fear and desperation remained as muted versions of their former selves. As Dorian worked on the amulet, Evana cast a barrier over them and then over Leliana as well. It wouldn’t last long, but it would buy her some time. Time to make sure this future never came to be.

Dorian worked furiously, incanting various phrases and watching the amulet’s reactions. They heard Cassandra and Varric fighting outside the doors. Then all went silent. Something started pounding at the doors, and Leliana readied her bow. Dorian mumbled faster, and Evana could hear the spymaster speaking a chant in low tones as the door finally burst open and a host of demons and soldiers flooded the chamber. Leliana fought valiantly, killing three, four, six, nine demons before a demon finally disarmed her and caught her in its grasp.

“Don’t move, or we all die!”

Dorian’s voice cut through her haze, and she realized she had indeed stepped forward. Behind her, however a black cloud much like the one that had sucked them into the future began to form. Leliana’s gaze turned to them as the demon dragged her down, and Evana knew what the spymaster wanted - to see with her own eyes that they’d made it. A fat tear rolled down Evana’s cheek as Dorian pulled her toward the black clouds of his rift. Just before that terrible future disappeared from her vision, a final image burned into Evana’s memory like a brand - the small, upward turn of scarred lips as demons slashed Leliana’s devastated body wide open.

As suddenly as they had disappeared, they reappeared in the present. Evana pushed back against her disorientation, whirling toward the magister while summoning her magic in a great, oppressive cloud all around her. Dorian gasped slightly, but Alexius merely slumped before her in defeat. Still on alert, Evana eyed the magister warily, but even after all he had done - all she had seen - she could not bear to end him. Her anger had run its course in that future. Now, she only felt a deep and abiding weariness and a churning unease.

“It's over,” she whispered.

She met Dorian’s gaze, and he nodded as if to reassure her they had truly made it. Her joy tempered with distrust, she tensed, waiting for this to prove to be a trick, for them to be sucked back into that place of despair. Just then, however, a contingent of soldiers marched into the hall and an angry looking man and woman stormed toward them.

“Or not,” Dorian answered blithely. “What better time to meet the King and Queen of Ferelden?”

 

**

 

They had recruited the mages, and they were on their way home. That’s all she could think about at the moment.

After giving an astonished Varric and Cassandra giant hugs with a promise to explain her strange behavior later, she negotiated with the mages, who were being summarily evicted from Ferelden by King Alistair and Queen Anora. She knew she had them at her mercy, and part of her wanted to punish Fiona for her idiotic “partnership” with Alexius. But as a mage, she couldn’t bring herself to conscript them. They would join the Inquisition freely if they were to join at all.

Fiona accepted their offer and began preparing the mages for the journey to Haven. She would send the senior mages ahead to help with the Breach, and the rest of the mages would follow in the coming week.

She had what she needed now to close the Breach. Then, she could go home.

Her chest pulled so tight that she had to take a few deep breaths before she could even continue the thought. The majority of her clan likely didn’t care if she ever returned, but the Inquisition _needed_ her. Now, seeing what she had seen, could she really leave? Could she ever be certain that the horrific future she’d witnessed would never come to be? That her friends would be safe from such a fate? She assumed the events of the future had come to pass because she’d disappeared before she closed the Breach, but was that true? Who was the Elder One Fiona spoke about? Cassandra had spoken of the murder of the Empress of Orlais and a demon army in that dark future. Were those plots still in play, or had they negated them by stopping Alexius?

The questions swam before her as she vaguely registered herself slumping forward. A distant voice called out “woah,” and suddenly, her body lifted away from her horse.

“Wha-?” she slurred drowsily.

Dorian’s voice whispered gently in her ear. “You nearly slid off your horse. I think it’s best you ride with me now - you weigh about as much as a feather, so I’m sure the horse won’t mind. We’ve still got a few hours before we reach Haven.”

So _that_ was the solid wall behind her… Dorian. He had seen that future with her. Perhaps he had more answers. She roused herself a bit more, and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Dorian, do you feel…”

“Confused, exhausted, horrified, strangely bereft? … Yes, to all of it, darling. We’ll talk more later. You rest now.”

“What about you?” she asked even as her lids became too heavy to hold open.

“I haven’t been the one traipsing all over Ferelden for the last few months, sleeping on the ground and probably getting up before dawn most days. You need rest. Sleep now.”

It could have been her exhaustion, or it could have been a spell from Dorian, but the next thing she remembered, she heard Dorian call for the Commander, then quiet murmurs. She felt the press of hard metal against her side as arms slipped under her knees and back. Lifting heavy lids, she recognized the gates of Haven as they passed darkly over her head. Her sleepy eyes moved left and took in the outline of fur and pauldrons shining in the moonlight, then the hard, chiseled line of a familiar jaw.

She sighed. “Ma falon.”

He looked down at her then, his golden hair glinting in the light of the gate torches, honey eyes full of concern. “Rest now, my Lady. We’ll have time to talk things over tomorrow.”

She reached up and pulled his mantle over so she could rest her head against it, marveling at his strength and enjoying the pleasant tingle of awareness where his arms and hands touched her. Her eyes slid shut again. Then he was gently depositing her on her own bed. She clumsily unclasped her coat and threw it to the end of the bed before nestling down on top of the heavy blankets. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she closed her eyes and soaked in the blessed warmth of the roaring fire.

She assumed Cullen would leave her as soon as possible, but after a long pause in which she nearly drifted back to sleep, she woke from her doze to feel Cullen working the laces of her boots. Surprised, she remained still as he worked, her confusion at his actions only growing as he gently lifted her leg to remove first one boot, then the other.

She cracked an eye open as he tentatively moved to the side of the bed, so he offered her a hand. Staring at it blankly for a moment, she hesitantly put her hand in his, and he gently pulled her into a sitting position. A glimmer of recognition sparked as he threw the covers back. She quickly worked herself under the pile of blankets she’d begged off Threnn all those month ago, sighing as her body began warming the bed. All the while, he grinned to himself.

“What’s so funny?” she asked softly as she settled under the blankets.

Cullen looked down at her, still grinning. “I was just thinking about what a liar you are. Your feet don’t smell at all.”

Evana laughed weakly as the memory of that evening weeks ago rose up in her mind - how it had begun in anger but ended in a stronger friendship. The look on his face told her he remembered it, too. And she’d just gone and done something that would no doubt put them at odds again. Cassandra had sent back a short note that they’d obtained the mages but included no details, thinking it would be better for them to hear the news in person. He had no idea she’d essentially freed the mages to work with them as equals.

A nervous dread settled in her stomach, and almost involuntarily, her hand reached out from under the covers, desperate for connection. After looking at it for a moment with a somewhat startled expression, he slowly folded her slender fingers into his own, gloved hand, his face melting into something halfway between surprise and… tenderness?

But that wasn’t right. She was projecting her own feelings on him again. She tried for a joke of her own to lighten the mood.

“You should have been there after our stint in the Fallow Mire. I believe Cassandra would tell you otherwise.”

Although he laughed softly in return, his eyes darkened a bit. Now she’d reminded him of her injuries. She felt a flush of heat rise up her neck at the intensity of his gaze and wondered again about his reaction when he heard about the free alliance with the mages. The fear of losing his friendship loosened her tongue, and she found herself blurting out what she would have kept hidden from anyone else.

“Cullen, I fear you'll be angry with me when you hear what I’ve done.”

That drew him from his thoughts, and he gave her a wry smile. “Hmmm? Angry with you? If you did what you went to do, it’s no less than what I expected, but I’ll save the angry for when you are up to fighting back.”

Relief flowed through her, and she relaxed into her pillow. So they would have tonight at least. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed, his eyes glancing down at their clasped hands before rising to meet hers again.

“Is there…” he started before raising his other hand and coughing awkwardly into his glove. After a short pause in which a faint flush overspread his cheeks, he started again. “Is there anything I can get you while I’m here? Dorian said you were so exhausted, you nearly fell off your horse on the way back.”

Despite an irrational desire to keep him there with her as long as possible, Evana hesitated. He was always so busy, and she had just given him a lot more to do, even if he didn’t know it, yet. He seemed to sense her reluctance.

“It’s alright,” he assured her. “It’s late, and Captain Rylen is in charge of the guard rotations tonight. I find I have the rest of the evening to myself. Tell me what I can do. I live to serve, remember?”

He squeezed her hand for emphasis. She smiled shyly.

“Ma serannas, falon. I would - I mean… would you mind terribly making some calming tea? It’s in the box on the shelf to the right of the fireplace. I need something to settle my mind, and I don’t have the energy for a calming spell. My mind… it keeps going back… to what I saw…”

Cullen’s face morphed into a mixture confusion and concern as she spoke, and she rolled to her back, putting an arm over her face to hide the pricks of tears in her eyes. Creators, how she hated looking weak!

“Of course,” he soothed. “It is no trouble. Let me just put the kettle on.”

Cullen let her hand slide gently out of his as he moved away. Cold slowly replaced the warmth so recently imparted by his large palm. She tucked her hand back under the covers, berating herself for foolish notions of strong hands. Once she had her emotions under control again, she rolled her other arm off her face to watch him work. He took off his gloves and pulled a pouch from the box before glancing over to catch her watching him.

“I’ve found that opening the little strings on these pouches is nigh on impossible with gloves on.”

She tried to smile, but in the next instant, unbidden, Leliana’s mutilated face flashed before her. She inhaled deeply in an attempt to force herself out of the memory. Her eyes darted to Cullen, his brow furrowing at the sound of her inhale. She focused on forming words, if only to set him at ease.

“You’ve been drinking the tea regularly, then?” she managed. “The new one is working?”

Cullen relaxed a bit and nodded. “I end up drinking it at some point almost every day, and then calming tea every few evenings. It typically puts me to sleep before I can finish my work for the day, so I try not to use that tea as often.”

Cullen’s steady voice pulled her further from the dark memories, and she snickered as she watched him pour tea leaves into two mugs. “Maybe you should take that as a hint that you shouldn’t be working so late?”

His tone was light as he gave her a look of mock persecution. “But then who would do the work?”

She nodded teasingly. “You’re right, of course. Keep at it, slave of the Inquisition!”

He started laughing, and his warm, full laughter - a rare and beautiful thing from this particularly serious and dedicated man - rolled over her like a wave. She didn’t know if she’d ever before felt so comfortable, so much like _herself_ , in anyone’s company. She tried to join him in his laughter, but the horrific images drained her of mirth. As Varric’s red-infused gaze filled her mind, her attempts at laughter turned into tears, and she turned away from Cullen, toward the wall, to hide it. It took him a few moments to notice her shift, but when he did, he was at her side in an instant.

“My lady - Evana...”

The bed sagged with his weight as he sat by her side. A tentative hand reach out to lightly touch her left arm. She grabbed it with her right hand and held on tightly. A few moments more, and she found herself spilling out all the terrible things she’d seen in the future. At every pause, he murmured words of reassurance, and his warm and genuine concern gradually eased her mind. Speaking the horrors didn’t make them go away, but sharing the burden of those images and experiences with Cullen calmed her mind and allowed her perspective.

Finally, the tears slowed, and she opened her eyes to see him dangling a handkerchief over her side. She laughed a little and took the handkerchief from him, freeing his hand from her grip. The boiling kettle turned his attention back to the room and the fire, and he rose from his perch on the bed to fill their mugs. She finally rolled to her back and gave him a tentative, sidelong glance, mildly embarrassed by her display. He brought the mugs over, set them on her night table and then dragged a chair over to sit down beside her. When she finally looked at him, he gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Feel any better?”

“I’m sure I look about as awful as I feel,” she mumbled.

“Then you must be feeling amazing.”

He managed the cheesy sentence without a stammer, but his cheeks flamed and eyes fell to the floor at the words. She quirked a brow and smiled weakly.

“Ha ha. Liar.”

Creators, he was being sweet. What would his soldiers think? She looked away and focused on sitting up. It turned out to be hard work considering her weakened state. Cullen, of course, came to the rescue and offered his arm. She placed her hand around his wrist, and he did the same, pulling lightly to help her into a seated position. The feel of his bare hand left a tingling warmth that spread up her forearm. But despite his help and his effort to cheer her, a quiet bitterness edged into her tone.

“You’re far too good to me, Cullen. That’s the second time you’ve seen me cry like a baby. You’re the only one here who’s ever seen that, you know? Doesn’t it bother you that your Herald of Andraste is such a weak, emotional fool?”

“I don’t think anyone who has seen or heard of your deeds would ever dare call you weak. As for emotional…” He paused, then shrugged. “We cannot ask you to never show your emotions, especially among your friends. In times of trouble, you should reach out to your friends, not push them away and bury your feelings.”

She got the odd feeling that he wasn’t necessarily referring to her anymore. She looked up at him, and the distant look in his eye confirmed it. A silence, took up residence in the cabin as they waited for the tea to steep.

“You’ve been through much in your life,” she finally murmured softly.

She did not speak it as a question but rather as a statement of fact, and he simply shrugged in return and reached for a mug. But he’d said as much already - that there were parts of his life he would rather not speak about. She had read as much about the events at the Ferelden Circle as she could after their initial conversation, and she understood now after witnessing the deaths of her friends - even if in a future that might never come to be - why a person would want to keep that hurt inside. It seemed too much to burden another with it. Judging from the descriptions in the books, his experience - being one of a handful of survivors during a bloody massacre of hundreds at the Circle Tower - had been infinitely worse than her own.

She reached for her own mug and began sipping. The warmth of the tea infused her already weakened body with a hazy feeling. Perhaps it was the time travel that had left her so drained. She wondered if Dorian felt equally exhausted. She drank more deeply as a sudden, overwhelming urge to hear Keeper Deshanna’s voice came over her. Deshanna, who had sung songs of comfort to her when the nightmares of Hanir’s death had kept sleep at bay.

A particular melody began playing in her head, but thinking the notes did not sooth as singing them did. She peered up at Cullen through her lashes. Would he think her foolish for wanting to sing a song? For grasping at anything that might give her comfort? Apparently, the exhaustion and calming tea had lowered her inhibitions enough to find out as she found herself blurting out the words before her brain had properly thought things through.

“We have a song that always gives me comfort in times like this. Would you like to hear it?”

Cullen raised his head, the distant look clearing from his eyes. “I - yes, I would.”

Still a little surprised at her own boldness, she cleared her throat and took a deep breath. Her voice came out clear and strong, and the warm elven words floated over her lips to wrap them both in an ethereal blanket of sound. She saw him close his eyes, but after a few moments, he opened them again. She basked in his reassuring gaze that made her feel as if she were something precious. If she could make him feel half of what his eyes made her feel… safe, secure… cared for…

 _Melava inan enansal  
_ _ir su araval tu elvaral  
_ _u na emma abelas  
_ _in elgar sa vir mana  
_ _in tu setheneran din emma na_  

_lath sulevin  
_ _lath araval ena  
_ _arla ven tu vir mahvir  
_ _melana ‘nehn  
_ _enasal ir sa lethalin_

All too soon, the last notes of the song faded into the walls around them. Neither of them spoke, both afraid to break the peace that had descended upon them. And so they gazed at each other until Cullen finally looked down, cleared his throat and took another sip from his mug.

“You have a beautiful voice… What does the song mean?”

She smiled and felt a rush of heat in her cheeks at his compliment. “The first part is about enduring through struggle and moving forward. The last lines translate roughly to ‘Be certain in your need, and the path will emerge to a home tomorrow, and time will again be the joy it once was.’ It’s just an encouragement that even when life has laid out a harsh path for us, we can choose how we are shaped by those experiences. We can choose to take the good from strife. Our past has brought us to where we are now, and _that_ will eventually lead us to better things… to our home.”

She took another drink and watched as Cullen contemplated her words. The tea leached into her aching head and body, pulling her further into her exhaustion, and she could see Cullen’s lids drooping slightly as well. She wondered sleepily what it would take to get him to stay the night with her.

Her eyes flew open, and heat bloomed from her chest, pushed up her neck and tinged her cheeks. Thankfully, Cullen’s eyes remained distant, still deep in thought. She worked to keep her breathing even. Where in the world had that thought come from? _My subconscious betraying me again, no doubt._

So, instead of pulling him into her bed, she drained the last of the tea from her mug and began settling down into the blankets once again. As she expected, he immediately shook off his introspection and sat up, ready to assist her if she needed him. Luckily, or unluckily depending on how she looked at it, lying down was definitely easier than sitting up.

She scooted down deeper into the heavy blankets, and her eyelids drooped. She registered Cullen standing up, moving the chair back to the table and rinsing the mugs. The soft tap of his armored boots as he carefully moved around her cabin and gentle clinking of the mugs against his vambrace lulled her into drowsy dozing.

She hovered on the verge of sleep, but dark thoughts still swirled along the edges of her consciousness. She forced her lids open once more.

“I’ve been here more than five months now. It seems longer sometimes, and much shorter other times... Will you hold my hand until I fall asleep?”

Her sleep-addled brain registered a little late that it was probably an inappropriate thing to say to him, and then only because of the surprised look on his face. He showed no reluctance, however, as he came to sit on the edge of the bed. She snaked her hand out from under the covers once again, and his warm, bare hand enveloped hers without hesitation. She couldn’t hold back the satisfied sigh that felt as though it were coming all the way from her toes.

Yes, it would be hard to leave when it finally came time for her to go home, but the Breach was no longer her final goal. The Elder One and his demon army must fall first. She would not leave her friends to face this danger alone. She knew she should be ashamed of the relief coursing through her at the thought of staying, but in this moment, with Cullen’s hand in hers, she could only feel that she was right where she was meant to be.

“Ma falon. What would I do without you?” she whispered sleepily.

A sharp inhalation vaguely caught her attention, but the heat of his hand snaked down her fingers, into her palm and down her forearm, lulling her further. It was the light feeling of a calloused thumb gently caressing the top of her hand, however, that finally sent her under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is from World of Thedas, Volume 1, pg. 29. [Translation from the book on the Dragon Age Wiki](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Elven_Language).


	17. In which a wounded soul stands at the precipice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition's spymaster comes to some realizations as the group prepares to march on the Breach.

Leliana rocked back on her heels, hands clasped behind her back, and simply watched the others bicker while they waited for the Herald to wake. Apparently, the Herald had insisted on riding back to Haven immediately after the accord with the mages even though none of them had slept the night before. According to Dorian, the elf had fallen asleep in the late afternoon of their ride back. It was now almost noon the following day, and Cassandra had finally gone to see if she was up.

Based on Dorian’s report this morning, they had much to talk about.

The mages were already on their way to Haven, and despite their preparations, the Inquisition would be hard pressed to find shelter and food for them all in the tiny town. The townsfolk and current Inquisition soldiers, especially the defected templars, would need to be handed the news as delicately as possible that they were about to be overrun with _free_ mages.

A small smile curled Leliana’s lips at the thought. Thank the Maker that job would be left in Josephine’s capable hands. If all went well, they could come up with a plan that would appease the more fearful of their group as well as the ones, such as herself, who would see the mages be free.

Soon enough, Cassandra returned with news that the Herald would be joining them shortly and took a place beside Leliana in the outer Chantry hall. The door opened a few moments later, but before the Herald could reach them, Cullen, who had been pacing, grumbling or otherwise causing a stir since Dorian’s report, repeated his earlier sentiments on the turn of events.

“It’s not a matter of debate. There _will_ be abominations among the mages, and we must be prepared.”

The flash of anger in the Herald’s eyes told Leliana that the elf had been close enough to hear Cullen’s words. Josephine shook her head, her tone exasperated. They had, after all, been having versions of this conversation for months now.

“If we rescind the offer of an alliance,” she argued, “it makes the Inquisition appear incompetent at best, tyrannical at worst.”

“We will _not_ be rescinding any offer.”

The authoritative tone of the Herald’s words caught their attention as she quickly crossed the distance from the door. Cullen turned on her, his brow furrowed and voice harsh.

“What were you thinking, turning mages loose with no oversight? The veil is torn open!”

The flash in the Herald’s eyes burned brighter as she joined their group, and Leliana was surprised to see a glint of steely determination in her look. _Well, well. What have we here? The Herald suddenly wants to engage as an authority? As an equal?_

“What? Mages like me?” she spat back at him. “Yes, I suppose I _have_ had a watch set on me this whole time. Wait. Don’t tell me. It’s for my own protection, right?”

Despite the answering growl of frustration from the Commander, expressions of guilt bloomed on the other advisors’ faces. Leliana’s eyes widened slightly. Even she felt a pang at her continued detail on the Herald’s person - though for her part, it stemmed from a desire to keep their Herald safe from others who might wish her harm.

_This new confidence from our Herald could prove useful._

When Leliana had first met the Herald, she’d had little hope that the withdrawn elf would be valuable outside of her ability to close rifts and perhaps being a figurehead for the Inquisition. The first reports back from the Hinterlands had changed her mind, however, and she’d added skilled fighter to the Herald’s list of talents. Now, it appeared the elf wished to add strategist and advisor to her repertoire. To be fair, she had progressively taken on more of a role in the Inquisition throughout the last few months, assisting with decisions in council meetings and making judgment calls in the field with increasing confidence according to Cassandra.

Leliana doubted Cullen appreciated this development the way she did - at least in this particular instance.

A palpable tension hung in the air as the Herald reined in her ire, clearly drawing from Josephine’s lessons to stay calm, even if through gritted teeth. The elf leaned to one side, crossed her arms in front of her and glared at each of them in turn, her posture indicating strength… and belligerence. Leliana noted curiously that the Herald suddenly seemed more invested in their cause, and an unfamiliar excitement flickered in the spymaster’s chest even as her brow furrowed. She wondered, not for the first time that morning, what more had happened in that dark future. Dorian had given basics about the events of the future they needed to prevent, but when pressed about the actual state of the world, his eyes went dark as he muttered something about them being “better off not knowing.”

Regardless, the woman standing before them was not the same woman who’d left them a few days ago. An inner strength, a fiery light in her eye, shone through her typical reticence. Leliana startled a bit as it hit her.

Passion. This new and different Herald had _passion_. For them. For their cause. For the mages. The flicker of excitement turned into a restless energy flowing through Leliana’s body. Could it be that the one person they’d needed had been standing with them the whole time…?

“We need them to close the Breach, and that’s not going to work if we make enemies of them,” the Herald added, a note of finality in her tone.

Leliana fought back a grin as she noted Cullen had moderated his voice when he spoke again. Frustration still edged his tone, but at least he’d stopped pacing.

“I _know_ we need them for the Breach, but they could do as much damage as the demons themselves.” He turned to Cassandra. “You were there. Why didn’t you intervene?”

Cassandra shrugged. “While I may not completely agree with the decision, I support it. The sole point of the Herald’s mission was to gain the mages’ aid, and that was accomplished.”

Cullen huffed in frustration as a brief nod passed between the Seeker and the Herald. Leliana had to work to keep the astonishment from her expression. _Impressive._ The diminutive elf had gained the support of a Seeker to free the mages. Leliana began to think that she’d sorely underestimated their Dalish Herald… _again_.

The entrance of the Tevinter mage, Dorian, interrupted the moment. “The voice of pragmatism speaks! And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments.”

Leliana caught the grin that spread across the Herald’s face at Dorian’s appearance, but before she could wrap her mind around what it might mean, she also observed how Cullen’s scowl deepened as he looked between the Herald and Dorian. _Now there’s something else altogether. I wonder…_ Small things began to add up - Cullen’s furtive gazes toward their Herald, the letter he’d kept to himself, and most recently, her messenger’s report that the Commander had spent more than an hour with the Herald last night after carrying her to her quarters. Her curiosity would have to wait, though. Cassandra had turned toward Dorian.

“Closing the Breach is all that matters. The mages have offered assistance. We accepted. It is _done_ , and we will move forward.”

“Dorian and I got a taste of the consequences if we fail,” the Herald added, her voice taking on a darker tone. “Let’s make sure we don’t.”

The Herald’s mention of her experience in the future brought Leliana back to full attention. “We should look into the things you saw in this dark future. The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?”

Dorian piped up again. “Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do. Orlais falls, the Imperium rises, chaos for everyone!”

The Herald smirked faintly at Dorian’s blase attitude, though she seemed more subdued than before, and Leliana noted Cullen’s mood soured even further. He reached up to rub his eyes with thumb and forefinger, his fingers briefly spreading to rub at his temples. Another headache, perhaps? He’d been having a lot of those lately. Concern nipped at the edges of her normal passivity, already worn down by the atypical excitement she’d experienced earlier, and she wondered how much of his frantic reaction to this morning’s news had been fueled by fear. Although they’d agreed to not speak of her past encounter with him, Leliana had seen him in the Ferelden Circle tower and knew that the events there had deeply scarred him. Add to that his time under a mad Knight-Commander… honestly, she was surprised he’d taken things as well as he had. She made a mental note, however, to watch him more closely in the coming days. They could not let anything come between them and closing the Breach, especially one of their own.

“One battle at a time,” Cullen growled before letting his hand drop to his side. He had yet to meet the Herald’s gaze, but he seemed to collect himself in, at least for the moment, as he continued in a calmer tone, “It’s going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. Let’s take this to the war room.” After a split-second pause, in his most even tone yet, he turned to the Herald and added, “Please join us, Herald. None of this means anything without your mark, after all.”

Leliana smirked to herself as the Herald met his eyes impassively and said simply, “Of course.” She wondered if, without Josephine’s training, the elf would have rolled her eyes at him.

“I’ll skip the war council,” Dorian interjected, “but I would like to see this Breach up close, if you don’t mind.”

The Herald seemed surprised by Dorian’s request. “Then… you’re staying?”

Dorian flashed a brilliant smile. “Oh, didn’t I mention? The South is so charming and rustic. I adore it to little pieces.”

The Herald’s pleasure showed fully in her features, but she still seemed hesitant. “I must admit, I’m surprised.”

Dorian’s face grew serious. “We both saw what could happen - what this ‘Elder One’ and his cult are trying to do. Not everything from Tevinter is terrible. Some of us have fought for aeons against this sort of madness. It’s my duty to stand with you. That future will _not_ come to pass.”

“Good,” the Herald affirmed with a grin. “There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with, future or present.”

Her mistrust somewhat mollified by the serious moment from the otherwise flippant mage, Leliana focused her attention on observing Cullen’s dour face at the Herald’s pronouncement. _Oh, yes, there’s certainly something there_. In fact, she began to wonder at her own spying abilities for not noticing it before. Now that she watched closely, she could easily see Cullen’s admiration for their Herald even through his disappointment at the current turn of events.

“Excellent choice!” Dorian agreed, his smug, self-satisfied expression falling into place once more as he pushed off the wall and winked at the Herald. “But let’s not get ‘stranded’ again any time soon, yes?”

The rest of them watched the mage depart from the Chantry, but Leliana watched Cullen instead, observing how he shuttered his expression the instant the Herald turned his way.

“I’ll begin preparations to march on the summit. Maker willing, the mages will be enough to grant us victory,” he offered grudgingly.

They spent the rest of the afternoon deciding on strategies for approach, placement of soldiers, and contingency plans if the Breach would not close. Leliana breathed a silent sigh of relief as Cullen took on his usual, professional demeanor, even if his tone sounded a bit gruff in places. He seemed to calm further when the Herald assured them that she, Dorian and Solas would take full responsibility for the senior mages and keep them out of Haven as much as possible.

When the final plan was in place, they discussed the time needed for preparation. The senior mages would need to be settled and the Herald given time to practice with them before they attempted anything. Leliana had dispatched scouts to the area as soon as Cassandra’s report of the mage accord had reached her, and she expected news back at any moment. From that point, she knew she could arrange everything on her end in a few days, but they had to weigh the need for expediency against the need to be sure everything was as perfect as they could make it.

In the end, they finally - miraculously - all agreed. As long as the senior mages arrived as planned, the Herald would attempt to close the Breach in a week’s time.

 

**

 

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity for everyone. The senior mages arrived on the second day, and Cullen efficiently organized them into camps. Whatever his distress over the mages had been, Leliana saw nothing of it after that morning in the Chantry despite observing him closely. She and the former templar had not formed a close bond, likely due in part to their history, but she felt a whisper of relief, both for his sake as well as the mages, that he exhibited nothing but professional behavior.

The other former templars with the Inquisition seemed to take their cue from their Commander, and all remained relatively peaceful… in spite of some of the mages complaining a bit too loudly to Cassandra about their “treatment.” Leliana’s messenger had stood in disbelieving awe as he related how their mage Herald had supported _Cassandra_ in the interaction. Leliana smiled as she considered and nodded in understanding. Leliana had learned in the early days of the Inquisition that their Dalish Herald valued self-sufficiency almost as much as she valued her time alone - unsurprising considering the elf’s upbringing.

True to her word, the Herald spent most of her days with Solas, Dorian and the most powerful of the recruited mages. Leliana received reports from her agents that they left Haven’s gates at sunrise on most days and often didn’t return until dusk. They spent the time practicing joining their focus and becoming familiar with the feel of their combined magics - all out of the sight of the ever-watchful eye of the Chantry.

Leliana chuckled to herself. _It must be irritating to Cullen and Cassandra to have them out there with no “oversight.”_

On the sixth day, however, one of her newest scouts lingered a bit longer after giving his evening report. She glanced up at him, annoyed by his hovering.

“Out with it, then.”

The boy fumbled. “I - uh - the mages, Sister Leliana, they’ve started…”

The scout paused and Leliana felt a bubble of panic well up in her chest. _Please, Maker, don’t let them have done anything to jeopardize this!_

“Yes?”

“They’ve started _waving_ at me.”

Leliana blinked. “What?”

“They’re waving. Every time they pass by us now, whether we’re hidden or not. They just smile and _wave_.”

Leliana blinked again. Then she burst into laughter. The Herald of Andraste… hazing Leliana’s agents? As she thought about it, though, she knew it must be the Tevinter mage’s doing. Only he would think to unnerve the Herald’s detail with a subversive smile and wave to say “I’m watching you watching me.” She looked up to see the boy had gone completely red.

“I - I’m sorry, Sister Leliana. Was I wrong to tell you?”

Wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes, Leliana shook her head. “No, no. You’ve done an excellent job. The mages are simply trying to send me a message. Please go about your duties, and be sure to wave back next time.”

When the scout left, Leliana didn’t immediately return to her work, her thoughts focused instead on the Herald. They had trusted her to go to the Hinterlands, the Fallow Mire, the Storm Coast and back to the Hinterlands to recruit hundreds of mages for their cause. She’d fought hard for them, recruited new agents and inspired countless men and women to join the Inquisition. The agents wandering Haven and the surrounding areas could not be helped, but perhaps she could reassign the Herald’s agents to more general coverage as they maintained a watchful presence around Haven. It would do nothing to account for Cullen’s soldiers - she knew he had guards assigned to watch the Herald - but maybe Leliana’s actions would convince Cullen to restructure as well, especially in light of their march on the Breach.

Leliana shifted in her seat as her thoughts rushed back to when this moment had been their final goal, when the hopes and dreams of the Inquisition rested on a tiny, unimpressive Dalish elf - a mage no less - who bore a ghostly mark supposedly from Andraste.

Now, with the full reports back from both Dorian and the Herald, she was convinced their fight had only just begun. This Elder One, who ripped a hole in the sky at the Conclave and murdered their Divine, was not done, yet. If the events in that future were any indication, the Empress would be the next to fall. After closing the Breach, a whole new set of challenges awaited. Exhaustion leached into her bones just thinking about it.

And in the end, none of it would bring back Justinia. The Divine’s murder had left a deep, festering wound in her soul that poured poison into her thoughts and actions, but she had no one to turn to. Cassandra and Josephine, though also affected, could not truly understand. She had never wished for Neria’s presence more, but they always seemed to be separated by duty. Would Leliana ever see her love again? Would Neria even recognize what Leliana had become in the time they’d been apart?

Leliana leaned forward and held her head in her hands for a moment. Words, old and familiar and yet suddenly, frighteningly empty, bubbled up from a place deep inside, but the wound twisted the words into sour bile in her mouth. How many times had she repeated these chants, praying to a Maker she bitterly wondered if she even wanted to serve anymore? How could she serve a Maker who allowed such a woman as the Divine to die? What was the point?

A shuffle of nearly silent Dalish feet at the entrance to her tent caught her attention. She finished her empty prayer, then stood to meet the Herald. Her gaze locked with hesitant blue-violet eyes - eyes that seemed to reach into that dark place inside her - and something inside Leliana snapped. Had she seen it? Had she seen the sickness inside? Leliana met the Herald’s searching gaze, her own eyes flashing and voice trembling with barely suppressed derision.

“You speak for Andraste, no? What does the Maker’s prophet say about all this? What’s His Game?”

Clearly confused, the Herald responded, “How is this a game?”

Leliana’s voice oozed with contempt. “Do you see the sky? What about the temple ruin? The bones lying in the dust? Even if you didn’t support the Divine’s peace, you wouldn’t call this right. Would could? So many innocent lives - the faithful murdered where the holiest of holies once stood. If the Maker willed this, what is it if not a game or a cruel joke?”

“I speak for no one but myself. And I have no answers for you.”

Leliana could see sympathy etched in every feature of the Herald’s face. All at once, her anger subsided, leaving only that bone-deep exhaustion in its wake. What had happened to that flicker of energy and excitement she’d felt a few days ago at the appearance of a passionate Herald? It had left her, just like her faith. Leliana stared at the Chantry building for a moment longer and then sighed heavily.

“You probably don’t even worship the Maker. Lucky. He asks a lot. The Chantry teaches that the Maker abandoned us. He demands repentance for our sins. He demands it all. Our lives. Our deaths. Justinia gave him everything she had, and He let her die!”

“I’m so sorry, Leliana. Her death has clearly been hard for you.”

Leliana shook her head. “Not just me... All of us. She was the Divine. She led the faithful. She was their heart! If the Maker doesn’t intervene to save the best of his servants, what good is he?” Leliana paused to look up at the Chantry building, glowing golden in the light of the setting sun. “I used to believe I was chosen, just as some say you are. I thought I was fulfilling his purpose for me, working with the Divine, helping people. But now she’s dead. It was all for nothing. Serving the Maker meant _nothing_.”

Leliana surprised herself with the venom in her own voice. She forcefully pushed back on the dark thoughts that threatened to consume her. Objective. She needed to be objective, aloof, calm.

Justinia’s death _had_ been hard for her, but to falter now, when they were so close to potentially closing the Breach? Perhaps that was why the poison in her soul seemed particularly potent right now. This was the thing that had killed the Divine along with hundreds of other devout and faithful people. Perhaps… perhaps closing the Breach might help heal these wounds? Or at least help her bury the darkness a bit deeper where no one could see it.

“Maybe you have another purpose. I could help you find it?” the Herald offered.

The hope and understanding in the elf’s voice caused an answering surge of tenderness in Leliana, drowning out the darkness for now. A familiar gleam, a kindredship, shone in the Herald’s eyes, and Leliana understood. Their Herald had experienced traumas of her own - things other than the Conclave - and Leliana allowed herself to consider that perhaps someone here _could_ understand her.

But not right now.

“No, this is my burden,” she said softly. “I regret that I even let you see me like this. It was a moment of weakness. It won’t happen again. Come, to work, then.” She walked over to her desk. “I see you and the mages are back early from your practicing?”

The Herald nodded, the concerned look still haunting her face. “Yes, we’ve all become much better attuned to each other’s magic. They will likely keep at it tomorrow while I’m here making final preparations with all of you, but my days of focusing and building rapport should help our effort immensely.”

“Good!” Leliana paused, then continued, “I also wished to tell you… I was impressed with how you handled Cullen’s displeasure when you first returned from Redcliffe. Your determination and leadership were refreshing in the face of such obstinance.”

The elf laughed. “Well, it helped that I knew it would be a fight going in. He actually wasn’t as difficult about it as I’d imagined he’d be, but I’ve been giving him some breathing room since then. I… believe we are still friends, but this was a mighty test.”

Leliana smirked and gave the Herald a knowing look. “I don’t believe you have much to worry about. Despite your differences, it is clear that Cullen… _respects_ you.”

The Herald blushed furiously and looked anywhere but at Leliana. “Ah… well… that’s good to know.”

The response was enough. Whatever feelings Cullen harbored for their Herald, they were at least partly reciprocated. Not wishing to make the elf more uncomfortable - at least not for now - Leliana quickly changed the subject.

“I have received word from my agents that your mages have taken to friendly greetings with my agents?”

The red that had begun to fade from the Herald’s cheeks intensified, and she nodded. “I’m sorry. It was Dorian’s idea. It made the mages uncomfortable to be so watched - they’re very leery of any semblance of being restricted. Dorian thought making your agents seem more benign would be helpful. I think it’s working, though I’m sure it’s been a bit unnerving for the scouts.”

“Oh, don’t apologize. And I was hoping to bring this up after the Breach has been closed, but since you’re here… how would you feel if I assigned scouts and agents to patrol the Haven area without specifically assigning any to you - or to any other mages? That way, there is a constant, watchful presence, but it’s more for _everyone’s_ protection, not just for the mages.”

A light of gratitude shone in the Herald’s eyes. “That is a lovely idea, Leliana. If the others agree, I think it would go a long way in establishing trust between groups.”

“Very well. I will bring it up with the others. Until then, tell the mages to keep waving.”

“I will.”

The Herald nodded and walked away toward the Chantry, while Leliana took a moment to breathe and then got back to work. The majority of the planning was done, but it didn’t hurt to double check everything.

The crisis of faith would have to wait for another time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a 6-hour Gilmore Girls marathon delayed the posting of this chapter, but it's finally up! Work has already begun on the next chapter (The Breach! Haven! Sacrifice! From Cullen's POV!). Thanks for reading. As always, you are all lovely for following along.


	18. In which triumph and tragedy strike in equal measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Inquisition prepares to close the Breach, Cullen comes to terms with his growing feelings, culminating in a shocking realization. (You'll never believe what happens next!)
> 
> A.K.A. - In which Cullen has major feels and even more major revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling a little shaky about this chapter (even a billion edits later). I always think I have a strong grip on Cullen's psyche until I really start writing him, and then the doubts crop up. I finally just said enough and am posting it. Hopefully he seems in character to you all! More thoughts at the end.

Cullen stomped the extra snow from his boots before striding through the Chantry to the war room. He’d had plenty of time when he started the trek to the Chantry, but with so many needing his attention, he’d barely made it through Haven’s gates before someone stopped him. Five more such delays as well as dropping off a requisition for Threnn meant he would walk into the meeting several minutes late. Irritation coursed through him as he picked up his pace.

Opening the door a crack, he let himself into the room and quietly closed it behind him. He turned toward the table, his steps cutting through the silence of the room, and he faltered momentarily as he realized no one had arrived, yet. No one except Lady Lavellan. She stood at her normal position, back facing the door, pressing both hands on the table as she leaned slightly over the map.

He’d barely seen her the entire week - nothing more than short greetings in passing. She’d spent her days with the other mages, and he’d buried himself in preparations for both the march to the Breach as well as for the arrival of the other mages. They wouldn’t have had time for anything else.

But now, as she looked up at him rounding the other side of the table and sent him a tentative smile, a familiar warmth radiated from the center of his chest, and he found himself wishing he’d carved out a moment - or two or three - to talk with her. The corners of his mouth tilted upward in answer to her silent greeting, and her smile widened. The sight never failed to set his heart on a faster rhythm and leave him feeling slightly breathless.

“Good morning, Cullen. It’s been some time since we spoke. I hope preparations are going well?”

Cullen nodded. She’d noticed their lack of communication as well. Did she lament it as he did? His tongue twisted in his mouth, and he knew without a doubt that when he finally untangled it, he would stumble miserably over his words unless he were careful. Taking a deep but silent breath through his nose, he opened his mouth.

“Yes, thank you.”

There. That wasn’t so bad.

A strange ache thrummed through his chest as her eyes dropped back to the map on the table, and he briefly wondered at the growing intensity of his reactions. He was now quite certain he’d never before been so taken by anyone, and every effort to subdue thoughts and feelings of her failed miserably. In fact, each day seemed to broaden the scope of his admiration and desire to be near her - to experience the peace he only felt around her, even if he did at times behave like a bumbling idiot when talking with her.

As she reached out to fiddle with a marker - one of his, near the Hinterlands - he reluctantly admitted to himself that perhaps… perhaps things had gone a bit beyond infatuation. Dread pooled in his gut even as his heart leapt in nervous excitement. Acknowledging his own burgeoning feelings did little to mitigate the fact that she would never think of him in that way. She had a clan and a whole life planned out and waiting for her elsewhere. Even if she hadn’t, he was an ex-templar, and though he harbored far more accepting views of mages than he ever had before, he fundamentally disagreed with her on mage rights. Perhaps mages like Lady Lavellan could be free once they’d proved themselves trustworthy, but on the whole, he still firmly believed mages needed oversight and training at least in the beginning…

Confusion mixed with the other emotions threatening to overwhelm him as he considered that and wondered how _he_ could think of _her_ so fondly. Logically, it made no sense. And yet the rapid beat of his heart at her nearness indicated logic had no bearing in this.

“And… things are going well with… with the troops? You are… well?” she asked quietly without lifting her eyes from the map.

Her innocent and yet loaded question set his thoughts down a different path. A rush of embarrassment caught him off guard as it brought to mind his initial reaction to the news of the mage alliance. Regardless of their disagreements, his behavior that morning had been deplorable. Instead of allowing calm logic to direct him, he’d let old fears get the better of him, coloring his words and actions with the broken part of himself he normally tried to ignore. But the thought of bringing on so many mages had induced more violent nightmares, and earlier that same morning, Rylen had tentatively suggested Cullen move his tent or himself to a more secluded spot to prevent sending the troops into a panic with his shouts and frantic mumbling. Hearing she’d promised them freedom had been the last straw.

After that morning, however, he’d put forth all his strength of will to curb his natural tendencies toward unwarranted distrust of mages and to fight back the dark thoughts and paranoia that threatened to drown him in decade-old darkness. Unfortunately, lack of lyrium hadn’t helped. He constantly struggled against losing himself in the pain and memories, to ground himself in reality even as the voices in his head whispered to him of abominations and his own weakness.

And the reality was that the last week had been rather quiet. Busy… but quiet. The mages spent most of their time away from Haven, and though he’d still posted soldiers to watch them coming and going, he had stopped short at sending templars into their midst.

“We are settling into a routine, I believe,” Cullen answered carefully, his cheeks warm from his embarrassment. “Once the Breach is closed and the rest of the mages arrive, we’ll need to see to training schedules for the warrior mages. I’d like to begin integrating them into excercises with our soldiers as soon as possible.”

Evana looked up at that, her face reflecting her pleased surprise. “Oh. That would be… that’s a fine idea. Perhaps I might offer a few suggestions on how to best approach them?”

“I would very much appreciate that, my lady.”

She smiled again, and a moment of silence stretched between them. It occurred to him as he traced the delicate curve of her lips that he was staring. He glanced off to the side, clearing his throat and grasping for anything to cover his misstep. His poor behavior rose up in his mind once again, and he turned back to her, expression serious.

“I would also like to apologize for my… unprofessional behavior a few days ago.”

“That’s not necessary…”

He shook his head. “It is. I should not have expressed my disagreement in such a way.”

Her brows furrowed. “So, you are merely sorry for how you expressed yourself and not for the unkind and _untrue_ things you implied about mages?”

Her soft tone belied the steel undercurrent of her words, and her eyes flashed with some unknown emotion. Irritation? Disappointment? Cullen blinked and thought back to his words. _There_ will _be abominations… turning mages loose with no oversight… they could do as much damage as the demons themselves…_

Usually, such a blatant challenge, especially about mages, would raise his ire. But no anger came. Swallowing thickly, he attempted to gather a response. But no words came. He stared down at the table, unseeing, thoughts overwhelming him. A whisper of a sigh reached his ears.

“Cullen… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I already know we don’t agree.”

His head snapped up in astonishment, meeting her tired gaze with one of confusion. “Why would you apologize? I’m the one who said those things. If they caused offense…” A sigh escaped his own lips as he attempted to explain. He could not leave things as they stood. “I have been taught certain things about mages. And I’ve experienced things that have made me…” He stopped, unsure why he’d even mentioned such a thing. His gaze wandered to the table as he started again on a different tact. “As we’ve discussed before, I am trying to see things from a different perspective, but at times… at times I can’t help but…”

He let out a small growl of frustration at his own ineptitude. Worse still were the echoes of old fears and habits still bouncing around in the background, undermining every step of progress he’d thought he’d made. He’d begun to question every impulse. Was it biased? Unwarranted? Even now, the old fears mingled with the ever-present ache in his temples and whispered to him to be watchful, to never trust, to always expect the worst from mages.

But not her. Never her. _Why not?_

Suddenly, the door swung open to reveal the other advisors as well as Dorian, abruptly ending the conversation. Cullen looked back to Evana, but she merely smiled sadly at him and nodded as if she understood. Her easy willingness to move on simultaneously comforted and troubled him. He wanted more… wanted depth… wanted…

Discussions began immediately, and Cullen valiantly worked to pull his mind out of their previous conversation and into the present. A small part of him, however, remained aware of her every move. He noticed how she stood before them more calm and collected than he’d ever seen her. He noticed her strong gaze, her firm stance, her sharp and decisive motions. She looked every bit the leader she’d come to be for them - not just a figurehead, but a true peer, giving her opinion and listening to others’ thoughts in turn.

Awe welled up inside him as he realized how seamlessly she’d brought them all together, even through their disagreements. By the end of the meeting, he had no doubts. A new voice mingled with the others, quiet and yet screaming in his head - _A mage has done all this, and still you doubt?_

A tendril of shame took hold of him, and he wished for another chance at an apology. Perhaps _after_ they’d closed the Breach…

The only other painful part of the meeting had been the grating presence of the Tevinter mage. Cullen gritted his teeth and looked away as Dorian stood there with her, his arm blatantly wrapping around her slender waist halfway through the meeting as if…

It didn’t matter. Whatever was there now, from their shared experience in the future to their days focusing and practicing, it wasn’t his business, even if he had developed strong and highly inappropriate feelings for their Herald. He had other matters to attend. And he would tend to them with furious diligence.

At the end of the meeting, a scout ran in with a message for Leliana. They all paused, knowing the message would be important if a scout had interrupted their meeting to deliver it. Leliana looked directly at him after skimming the tiny roll of parchment.

“The rest of the mages are ahead of schedule, apparently. They will be arriving tonight.”

Cullen blinked as his heart jumped into his throat at the thought of even more mages. They’d expected the remainder of the group to arrive in Haven the day after they closed the Breach, and he’d been working on a plan to house them all, but… How would he ever find places for them all _tonight_? And with the contingent of soldiers going out with the Herald to close the Breach, would he have enough left in Haven to keep an eye on the mages?

Another tendril of shame spiraled through him, his gaze flicking toward the Herald as if she could somehow hear and judge his thoughts.

“When?” he asked gruffly as his eyes returned to Leliana.

“At or just after nightfall,” Leliana replied.

Cassandra let out a small grumble before resting her hands on the war table. “Why did we not receive notice beforehand?”

“I plan to look into that right now,” Leliana assured them as she turned toward the door.

Cullen just nodded and brushed past the rest of them on his way out. He had no time to waste on unknowns. He immediately began preparations - shouting orders, reassigning soldiers, consulting with Threnn. By the time the mages arrived that evening, he managed to just barely organize the camp and find them all temporary sleeping arrangements. Fiona seemed willing to allow him to direct them for now, but her posture made it clear he was working on borrowed time. As someone who had spent the last 17 years ensuring this exact scenario never occurred - mages gathered en masse with no one to watch them - his nerves were shot by the time he rolled into bed for a few hours of rest that night.

It was a good thing they’d moved his tent. The nightmares were not kind.

 

**

 

The next morning, Cullen paced outside the gates as the company gathered. He’d planned to go with her - _them_ \- but the mages’ early arrival meant he must stay behind. Fiona refused to deal with anyone but him. Bitterness scratched at his veneer of calm as he scanned the group looking for a reason to insert himself, but he shoved the feelings down. His specific presence was not necessary - Rylen could direct the soldiers just as well. 

As they waited, the Herald approached him. She nodded to him as she took up a place by his side, arms crossed, face pensive, and then turned to watch the soldiers and mages assemble. He did the same. They stood in silence for a time, the overpowering awareness of her presence setting him on edge for an entirely different reason, before she finally spoke.

“So… this is it, I guess?”

The corner of his mouth turned upward in a wry half smile. “For now.”

“Encouraging. Thank you,” she said with a soft snort of equally wry amusement.

Neither had taken their eyes off the soldiers during the exchange, but at this, Cullen looked down at her. She glanced up at him, and he tried for an encouraging smile.

“Maker willing, it will be a great victory for us. For you. We have done all we can to prepare, and I believe you will succeed.”

“Ma serannas,” she murmured.

She rocked back and forth on her heels, a worried look tarnishing her pale face as she turned her gaze to the Breach. He nearly reached out to put a hand on her shoulder but stopped himself at the last moment, suddenly aware of all the people surrounding them. A flush of mild embarrassment heated his cheeks as his hand dropped uselessly to his side and then eventually found the pommel of his sword. After a moment of silence, she spoke abruptly.

“About yesterday… no hard feelings?”

Her eyes - sober and serious - darted to his, and he met her gaze with a serious expression of his own. “Of course not, my lady.” He nearly stopped there, but that fierce thrumming in his chest pressed him to keep going. “Perhaps… after the Breach is closed we’ll have time for a more serious and… and more private discussion of our views? Perhaps understanding each other better will narrow the gap between us over time?”

 _Well done, Rutherford. You managed a full, coherent thought._ It seemed to be a rarity around her these days. A wide smile replaced her worried countenance, and she let out a deep breath as she nodded.

“I’d like that very much, Cullen.”

“If we are all here, we should get moving!”

Cassandra’s sudden and forceful tone carried over the subdued group. Cullen glanced at Rylen, who nodded.

“The soldiers are ready,” Cullen called back.

“As are the mages,” the Herald added.

“Then let us march,” Cassandra urged as she pushed forward into the early morning mist.

Lady Lavellan took a step forward, but then paused to look back at him. “Goodbye, Cullen.”

“Farewell, my lady,” Cullen returned.

She nodded and moved to join the others. Streaks of fiery reds, oranges and pinks painted the horizon in shades of warning, and he sent up a small prayer as the group receded into the distance that the snow would hold off long enough for them to do what must be done. When the group finally disappeared over the bridge, he forced himself to relax his tense jaw and return to assisting the mages as they settled into Haven.

They anticipated the Herald would arrive at the Breach by midday and, if all went well, would return before nightfall. As if on cue, the anticipated storm began rolling in mid morning, and by midday the sky had turned threateningly dark except for the greenish Breach glowing among the clouds. Cullen began watching the sky as he went about his duties, praying to the Maker that all their work wouldn’t be in vain. Soon, Leliana and Josephine appeared outside the gates, and it seemed every face in Haven now turned upward in anticipation. Cullen gave up on his current tasks and stood with the two women. Waiting. Watching. After what seemed to be an eternal stretch, a sudden flash of green shot up toward the Breach. A loud crack and a ripple of energy radiated from the Breach.

And just like that, it closed. Only a faint greenish scar in the sky remained.

A collective gasp hung in the air, as if they were all waiting for something even more disastrous to appear in the wake of the Breach. Possibly a full minute passed before a single soldier let out a war cry, which quickly multiplied into a joyous cacophony. Cullen turned to see the entire town of Haven gathered outside the gates, yelling, laughing, dancing and celebrating. The soldiers lifted casks to toast their victory, Josephine surprised him with a great bear hug, and Leliana cordially shook his hand.

They had done it. In this, the Inquisition had triumphed.

He grinned back at the other advisors and felt a great weight lift from his shoulders. And yet… his mind went to Lady Lavellan, and his prayers started anew that she was not injured, or Maker, at the very least that she had survived. _Please, Maker, let her be well._

The celebrations continued through the afternoon even as the storm built along the edges of the mountains and threatened them with a new bout of snow. Cullen joined his soldiers for a drink, praising them for a job well done, reminding them that it was far from over but that they should and could _moderately_ celebrate for the afternoon. Tomorrow, they would continue on, for the Inquisition.

The celebrations were still going strong when a soldier ran up to let him know the watch had spotted the mage party returning. He jogged from the camp toward the bridge, uncaring who might think it inappropriate. At the top of the hill, he saw the group crossing the bridge and tried to make out the small form of a Dalish elf as he moved toward them.

He caught sight of her as they passed through the bridge tower - walking, laughing, arm-in-arm with Cassandra and Solas. His heart leapt into his throat at the sight of her, well and whole.

As she approached, she broke away from the others and almost ran toward him, hands extended. The thrumming of his heart vibrated through his whole body now, drawing him to her. Ignoring the curious looks from the others, he folded her hands into his and let himself drink in the sight of her. He hadn’t realized until this moment how worried he’d really been. Exhaustion flitted across her face, but her eyes danced, her smile contagious. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning at her like a fool.

“We’ve done it, Cullen! The Breach is closed. _That_ part of the horrible future I saw won’t be coming true at the very least. All the rifts I close after this point will be like child’s play, eh?”

“I’d say you’re certainly a professional rift closer now, yes,” he affirmed.

She beamed at him as the others passed by. Cassandra grinned and nodded at him. Solas’ gaze lingered on their entwined hands and then raised to meet Cullen’s eyes with a curt tilt of his head. Inexplicably, Dorian just grinned at them.

He took a deep breath and returned his attention to the amazing woman in front of him. How could he have ever doubted her abilities? Her devotion to this cause? Her worthiness to be marked and labeled as their Herald of Andraste? The mages had also certainly proven their worth in this outing. If only more of them could be like her.

He felt her pulling at his hands to walk with her toward Haven. As they turned to walk, side-by-side, her hands slipped from his to clasp behind her back, and he felt a small pang at the loss. She still walked with him, though, and he quickly matched his pace with hers as she joyfully told him of all that had happened that day.

They walked into town with cheers and adulations on all sides. Cullen touched her elbow and bowed, moving back into the crowd to clap with the rest of the people. She looked at him, mystified and embarrassed, so he simply mouthed “to the Chantry.” She nodded seriously, exhaled and turned away, clearly glad to at least have a goal.

When she disappeared from his view, he turned out of the gates once more. He would need to see to his soldiers. He had warned them not to drink to excess - with the creator of the Breach still out there somewhere, they could not afford to be careless - and as he walked through the ranks, he happily noted that his Lieutenants had mostly prevented any drunkenness. The casks had been shared and resealed hours ago, and most people now sat around fires talking excitedly or dancing to the music that filled the air. The lieutenants tended to the few who had imbibed too much, and in general, a peaceful air settled over the camps. The wind, however, began to pick up, and Cullen knew that the night would be a cold, snowy one for them.

However, later that evening as he walked back toward the gates after a full check on troop conditions, a different sound caught his ear over the wind and music and conversation. He bellowed to the soldiers to still themselves.

A silence gradually fell over the camps, and in the place of voices, they all now heard what had caught their Commander’s ear. A watchguard ran up at that moment.

“It’s a massive force, Commander! Mostly still on the other side of the mountain, but approaching fast.”

His gut wrenched. A massive force? Marching on them?

“What banner are they flying?” he barked.

The watchguard shook his head, a panicked look in his eye. “None, ser!”

They had been caught unaware. He had _allowed_ them to be caught unaware. Where were Leliana’s scouts? Cullen began running and yelling to the men on the gates.

“Sound the alarm! Forces approaching! To arms!”

He ran through the camp, organizing the lieutenants and shouting orders to pick up essentials. He had to get them to the gates. As he ran with the stragglers toward the city walls - his mind reeling with plans and contingency plans - he saw the Herald racing down the stairs to meet him. It took far longer than he wished, but finally, he pushed the last of the men and women inside and closed the gates behind him. Through the ever-building clank of soldiers bearing down on them, he began recounting the information from the watchguard, but a loud banging and a distraught voice at the gate interrupted them.

“I can’t come in unless you open!” the voice called.

The Herald dashed to the door, and Cullen ran after her, sword drawn, fearful of some sort of trap. They opened the gate to see a templar soldier moving toward them, but before Cullen could react, the templar fell to his knees and collapsed in front of them. An eerie young boy with a large floppy hat stood behind the templar, his dagger dripping with blood.

“I’m Cole. I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know.”

The Herald sounded frantic as she replied. “What is this? What’s going on?!”

The boy’s voice grew quiet. “The templars come to kill you.”

Cullen body turned to stone. Even his heart missed a beat.

“ _Templars_?” he finally asked incredulously, disbelief coloring every word. “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

It didn’t seem possible. But the seeds of doubt - planted in Kirkwall through his experiences with his Knight-Commander and encouraged by the Herald’s passionate defense of mages - now pushed up from the depths of his denial. _Is the Order truly as corrupt as the mages say?_ Even when he lived among them, it hadn’t seemed this bad… Or had he truly been fooling himself this whole time?

_How is this possible!?_

The boy spoke again, still cryptic, but his words added to the leaden mass growing heavier in the pit of Cullen’s stomach.

“The red templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows you. You took his mages.”

Another mention of this Elder One. Then the boy, Cole, pointed to two figures emerging over the top of a distant hill.

“There.”

A deep and abiding chill sunk through Cullen’s bones as the two moved forward into torchlight. His brain refused to process what he saw. _Is that? It can’t be…_ He squinted and looked again.

“I know that man…” Cullen finally said, the truth before him chilling him further, “but this Elder One...”

Although the two stood far off, he could easily discern the horribly disfigured form that joined Samson - for it was his old templar compatriot, Samson, standing there, leading the templar charge. Red lyrium jutted out in spikes from the Elder One’s body, skin stretched taut, chest open to the bones and muscles beneath. Cullen had seen many truly horrific things in his life, but that thing on the hill churned his gut in a way he hadn’t felt for more than a decade.

“He’s very angry that you took his mages.”

He cringed at the desperation in the Evana’s voice as she finally addressed him. “Cullen, give me a plan. Anything!”

He saw little hope, but - he must give her _something_. She needed to act. If they could somehow find an advantage… His gaze landed on the trebuchets he’d calibrated only a few days ago. He shook off the lethargy of remembered horrors and hardened his voice.

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this… monster, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force. Use the trebuchets to bring the snow down on them!”

He turned from her then. He could not be weak. If they were to survive, he must put everything he had into this.

“Mages! You have sanction to engage them. That is Samson, and those he leads are templars. He will not make it easy. Stay out of range of templars. Use barriers and ranged offensive magics. Keep the soldiers protected as they engage in melee attacks. Now is the time to fight for your freedom.” Then he raised his voice to all his soldiers. “Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!”

The force behind him roared, and the Lieutenants took charge. He took one last look at Lady Lavellan racing with Cassandra, Varric and The Iron Bull toward the trebuchet, then turned his attention to the battle ahead.

 

**

 

Everything had been fine until the dragon. The way she’d buried half their army in that avalanche… He’d almost believed they might hold off this Elder One. Then the dragon came, setting Haven on fire with its breath and destroying one of the trebuchets in a fell swoop.

Now, he could see no way out. He’d ordered everyone to the Chantry, and on the way, they’d saved as many from the burning wreckage of Haven as they could. As he helped the wounded get comfortable, he saw the Herald and her party run into the Chantry, and a powerful wave of relief washed over him. _Maker be praised._ He ran toward her, formulating his words as he approached.

“Herald, our position is not good,” he began without greeting. “That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

A blonde-haired boy now tending to the deep, likely fatal, wounds of Chancellor Roderick, spoke up. “I’ve seen an Archdemon. I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.”

Bundle of joy, that one. Was he the one from the gates? Cullen shook his head.

“I don’t care what it looks like! It has cut a path for that army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven!”

Cullen sounded desperate to his own ears and worked to calm himself. He had to find a way to save them!

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village,” Cole recited in monotone. “He only wants the Herald.”

“If it will save these people,” she replied forcefully, “he can have me!”

Cullen’s breath left him in a giant _whoosh_ , his heart nearly stopping from the panic incited by her offer of sacrifice. It might be their only hope. It might be the strategic and appropriate thing to do.

But everything in him revolted against the idea.

And in that moment, the truth hit him like the avalanche they’d unleashed on their enemy. The thrumming that even now threatened to overwhelm his senses… The intensity of emotion that he’d never - truly _never_ \- felt before… The calm, the serenity he only ever felt in her presence…

He loved her.

He _loved_ her.

Heart and soul. With everything he had.

This woman who would willingly give up her own life to save them all, to protect them, who had risked her life countless times for their cause, who had brought them together despite their differences and healed the sky… she had become everything to him.

And he could not save her.

The spark of anger at the appearance of Samson and this Elder One now burst into full-on rage. Maker damn him! It wasn’t supposed to be like this! But the boy only shook his head at her offer.

“It won’t save them. He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he’ll crush them. Kill them anyway. I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like -” Cullen stopped abruptly, his rage dying down as quickly as it had flared. He looked helplessly at her, the woman he now knew - knew to his very soul - he loved. He fought for composure, the situation sobering him enough to speak clearly despite his internal riot of emotions. “My lady, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche... We could turn the remaining trebuchet, cause one last slide.”

She looked at him, confused. “We’re overrun. To hit the enemy… we’d bury Haven!"

“We’re dying, but we can decide how.” His voice softened. “Many don’t get that choice.”

He gazed into her eyes, willing her to see how much this had meant to him. Even if it had all been for naught in the end - or if they miraculously lived and she never loved him in return - he thanked the Maker for having met her. She swallowed hard as she returned his gaze, and he thought he saw…

“Yes, that…” the strange boy turned to them again. “Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

Cullen listened with a dawning hope as the Chancellor described a virtually unknown path through the mountains. Evana turned to him, a brilliant light of hope in her eyes as well.

“What about it, Cullen. Will it work? Can we save them?”

Maker, the trust she put in him rocked him to the core. “Possibly... If we keep them distracted and _if_ Roderick shows us the path.”

Cullen reached toward her, taking a step and closing the distance between them. Afraid of how touching her now might affect him, however, he dropped his hand before it made contact. The words he spoke were enough.

“My lady - Evana - what of your escape?”

She turned away from him, and his entire body went numb. She wasn’t planning on coming back. _Maker, no. Please, no._ He swallowed, his voice raw with emotion.

“Perhaps, you will... suprise it? Find a way?”

He could say no more. He clenched his jaw, fighting for control, and turned away to get the people moving. If he stood looking at her any longer, he would throw himself in her way. But they both knew it had to be her.

No one else could distract the Elder One long enough to get everyone out of Haven. No one else but the one who had already given up so much for them all.

When he finished giving orders and getting people moving, he returned to her. Now that he knew what to do - what had to be done - he let his training take over, numbing himself to his emotions. He’d become good at that over the years. He would endure. He would be the Commander she needed him to be - no more, no less.

Pointing after some soldiers running out of the Chantry, he explained, “They’ll load the trebuchet. Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the treeline. I’ll light a flare once we’re safe.”

She didn’t look at him - hadn’t looked at him since she’d made the decision. She just turned and walked to the door. He couldn’t help himself. He put as much significance as he could in his words as he called after her.

“If we are to have a chance - if _you_ are to have a chance - let that thing hear you!”

She finally turned to him as she reached the door, her eyes shining brightly with unshed tears. He could see the fear in her eyes, but underneath, he also saw a gritty determination. Then she disappeared, her loyal team following her into almost assured death.

He yearned to follow her, too. Maker, he would follow her anywhere. Even to certain death.

Cullen turned back to the people instead, his own determination numbing him to what felt like a gaping hole where his chest had been. She had trusted him to protect the people. He had to make her sacrifice worthwhile. He would crumble later when all hope was gone.

Duty and sacrifice. His life was made of nothing else.

As they hurried down to the lower passages of the Chantry and then out into the dark, cold night, he made sure his able-bodied soldiers grabbed as many supplies as they could carry, thanking the Maker that they still had access to the stored supplies in the Chantry dungeon. He called out encouragements and tried to hurry the group along, but so many had sustained injuries in the battle, it was slow going. Every roar of the dragon circling above and clash of swords and armor in the distance sent his heart pounding as he imagined the worst.

He only turned around once after ordering an archer to light the flare, and the trail of fire and destruction left by the dragon burned a permanent image in his mind’s eye. Then he saw the trebuchet fire. Like a charging bull, snow raced toward her position, inevitable, unstoppable, and the dragon took off into the night just as it rushed over the trebuchet and buried all of Haven. The cracking of trees and roar of sliding rocks and snow filled his ears, but still he watched for any sign, any signal she might have escaped, his hopes refusing to die even under the crushing reality before him.

What if she had survived? What if…?

“Cullen!”

In the darkness, he saw Cassandra, Iron Bull, Varric and what remained of his soldiers run up the path toward them.

“Cassandra! What happened?” he called down to her.

She shook her head as she struggled to catch her breath and held her side as if protecting an injury. “I … don’t know … she ordered us … to leave as the Elder One arrived … with his dragon.”

“I wouldn’t have gone, but she threatened to kill us herself if we didn’t. Not that I believed her… but she’s the boss.”

Cullen numbly nodded at the Iron Bull. He looked to Varric, but the dwarf had never really stopped moving and ignored them all as he walked on up the mountain. Cullen knew the feeling. The hope he’d harbored only moments before plummeted to near nonexistence.

She couldn’t have survived.

And yet he couldn’t seem to give up on the idea. To give up would be to admit that the first bright thing in his life since… since he couldn’t remember when… had been taken from him. He couldn’t afford such crippling thoughts when so many were counting on him. So he held onto that thin shred of hope even as he turned his back on Haven.

The tattered remains of the Inquisition walked for hours in the cold, and as they walked, the winds and snow worsened into a full on blizzard. Still, Cullen looked behind him regularly, sometimes even walking backward for long stretches at the back of the slow-moving group, praying he would see her green mark following them in the distance. If she’d survived, she could easily catch up to them… unless she were injured. He shuddered and peered more intently into the darkness.

Cullen vaguely registered the frozen weariness and pain in the faces of the people around him and called for a short break. He ordered his remaining able-bodied soldiers to build fires to warm the weakest and most vulnerable among them - the people were better served by the mages using their mana to heal or keep people comfortable until the spirit healers could address the most severe injuries. Along with the snow, a nigh-on deafening silence blanketed the group, matched only by the suffocating atmosphere of overwhelming defeat.

He paced at the edge of the camp, uncaring as the wind and snow burned his face, his mind filled with images of her body, broken and buried under the snow and debris. His descent into the darkness of his mind brought another thought - the Elder One abducting her from the mountain side on his dragon to kill her slowly in his lair, torturing her, mutilating her. His stomach lurched, and he let out a vicious growl. The agonizing fear festered deep inside him as each minute passed with no sign of the Herald. _She couldn’t be… oh, Maker, she couldn’t be…_

“No!” he whispered sharply under his breath. He would not succumb to the despair.

The fury and howls of the blizzard broke him from his thoughts long enough fall back into his Commander role. Less than an hour into their tenuous camp, the soldiers struggled to keep the fires burning in the vicious winds. They needed to find a more sheltered place. So he got everyone up, and they marched onward, ever further from the place he’d left his heart. A sharp ache took up residence in his chest, building in intensity with each step he took away from Haven, away from her - like a cord stretched taut between them, each breath bringing it closer to snapping.

Finally, they discovered a small, sheltered cove in the mountains. He helped the soldiers set up the tents they’d managed to save and build more fires. Then, with nothing more to do, he took up the mantle of sentry at the edge of the camp, gazing out into the darkness. Gradually, the snow and winds died down, and yet another oppressive silence settled over the camp.

“Maker, please, if you can hear me...” he rasped into the night.

His voice broke, but he wouldn’t let tears come. Not yet. He took a step into the snow. Then another as everything in him urged him outward. He felt a hand on his arm and looked to see Cassandra watching him with sympathetic eyes.

“Come, Commander. Let us go look for our Herald.”

After a moment of surprise, he threw her a grateful glance and ran to retrieve a torch. A few soldiers seemed to understand his intent and joined them. They set off together in the snow, backtracking their steps. He tried to keep the hope from growing. The chances of actually finding her were so remote… she might have gone in the complete opposite direction or fallen into some ravine.

Or died in the avalanche.

They walked on for what seemed like hours, spreading out in a wide fan of torches in case she’d fallen unconscious somewhere. Maker, had they really traveled this far? At least it kept him busy, even if it was useless. Despite the reality of the situation, a small glimmer of hope continued to burn in his heart. _If I can just get to her, if she could just be alive…_

They’d backtracked almost to their previous camp when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of light in the distance. The flame of hope flared, only to be instantly tempered by disbelief. It couldn’t be her. But he turned that direction anyway and nearly ran over Cassandra as he handed her the torch and peered into the darkness, moving toward where he thought he’d seen the faint light.

It flashed again - a green, glowing light - and a surge of adrenaline shot through his exhausted body.

“There! It’s her!”

He burst into a full run as Cassandra sent up thanks to the Maker, and he suddenly found himself grateful for all those mornings in Haven spent running through snow. Cassandra, unsurprisingly, kept up, though the nearest soldiers followed at a slower pace.

Cullen skidded to a halt and dropped to catch Evana in his arms just as she fell to her knees. He’d never seen anything in his life more beautiful than her heavily-lidded eyes looking up at him and the small smile that touched her lips as she lifted a frozen, gloved hand to his cheek. Tears threatened at the edges of his vision as he murmured assurances to her in the dark.

“It’s alright. I’ve got you.” _My love._

But just as he wrapped her tightly in his cloak, he felt her hand drop and her body go limp in his arms. He quickly lifted her to his chest and put his ear to her nose. A faint, warm breath washed over him followed by a tidal wave of relief.

“Hurry!” he called to those with him. “She’s unconscious. We have to get her back to the camp!" 

Cassandra gathered the soldiers, and they quickly plowed through the snow to give Cullen an easier path. His heart dropped as he looked down at her limp form, and he angrily defied the Maker to bring her back to him only to let her die in his arms. Cassandra, not burdened with extra weight, ran ahead to ready the healers. Despite his lack of sleep and exhaustion from the battle, he continued on, retracing their steps, unwilling to even pause for a short rest lest he lose her to exposure on the way.

When they finally made it back to the camp, a general murmur and some gasps went up from the crowds of people already roused by Cassandra’s no-doubt brash appearance. The crowd parted reverently, however, as he plowed through them to the makeshift infirmary and laid her gently on the prepared cot. Solas and other mages proficient in healing gathered to her side as soon as he put her down and worked quickly and silently, stripping her of wet armor, casting warming spells and testing her body for injuries. A couple of them began work on her clearly dislocated shoulder.

Cullen couldn’t bring himself to leave. He knew he should give them space to work, however, so he merely paced at the front of the large tent and watched her face for any sign of consciousness. He could see her companions hovering outside the tent flap giving him questioning looks, as well, and shook his head to indicate he knew nothing. After a few tense minutes, Solas looked up at Cullen.

“Commander, we are nowhere near done, but you should know that you and Cassandra likely saved her life. She is very weak and has many injuries, but I have no doubt of her recovery. If you had not found her, however…”

Solas let the comment trail off, and Cullen saw a flicker of self-reproach in the elf’s eyes. Solas’ words, however, were like a salve to the hole in his chest. Whatever he thought of Solas personally, he knew the elf to be proficient in healing - he would not be confident of her survival if he didn’t have good reason.

With one last look at her pallid face, Cullen nodded and finally left the tent to the healers. He related the Herald’s condition to those closest to the tent knowing full well that word of mouth would spread around the encampment just as quickly as an official announcement.

As he settled himself beside a fire just outside of the infirmary to wait for her to wake, he bowed his head and sent up praise and thanks to the Maker. The woman he loved would live - live to smile at him, to encourage him, to sooth his spirit and yet challenge his sensibilities. In that moment, despite their precarious position, it was only that truth mattered to him. He would worry over the fate of the Inquisition tomorrow.

The fire gradually warmed him through, and though a tinge of brightness edged the horizon, heralding the day to come, drowsiness overtook him. He leaned back on a crate of supplies, closed his eyes and, for the first time in nearly 24 hours, he slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the shakiness: So my rational for Cullen's revelation in this chapter really has more to do with my particular Inquisitor than anything. I think for a enemies-to-lovers sort of relationship, the realization that he's in love with her wouldn't come nearly so early for him. But with a person who so closely reflects his own personality and complements him so well (and who he started falling for almost immediately, as is my head canon), he falls that much faster and harder. It becomes too strong to ignore, and with the events of Redcliffe and Haven pushing him to be honest with himself, he realizes his own feelings pretty early on.
> 
> This doesn't mean he's willing to act on those feelings or that he believes she feels the same (or that he would ever accept that he _deserves_ her), but it's in his mind as the events following Haven's downfall unfold. He is determined to love her and protect her from afar.
> 
> Also, if you're familiar with the game, you'll have noticed that I took some liberties with the dialogue. This will likely continue as the story progresses (note the "mild AU" in description!). I feel that the game had to remain pretty generic for obvious reasons, but that in "real life" the characters would say and act more in line with the depth of their relationships with each other. Most game dialogue from here on out will be couched in much larger, more in-depth conversations.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoyed, and I'd love to hear any feedback you might have! Did Cullen feel in character to you? If not, why? I'm always interested in what other people think!


	19. In which a Not-So-Reluctant Leader is born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the days following the fall of Haven, Evana slowly processes her experiences and comes to a few realizations of her own.
> 
> An introspection-heavy chapter.

Muffled shouting pierced through a haze of unconsciousness, and Evana slowly opened her eyes, only to immediately close them against the brightness. As her brain struggled to catch up with her surroundings, she blinked a few times and managed to make out a figure sitting next to her.

_I’m alive. Where am I?_

The fog cleared a bit more, and the woman sitting by her side - a healer, no doubt - shushed Evana as she tried to sit up from the heavy blankets. A soreness extended through her left shoulder, across her chest and into her hip, and she laid back down with a huff.

“Your shoulder was dislocated,” the woman explained. “We had to put it back in place. The mages healed most of your other major ailments, such as the torn ligaments and cracked ribs. You shouldn’t lose any of your fingers or toes to the frostbite. Harlim did a good job getting those tidied up right, and your excellent armor kept the rest of your skin protected from the snow. The minor cuts and bruises they left because they needed to get back to the other injured. You should rest more.” She turned and reached for a phial. “Here, drink this. It will help.”

Evana thanked the healer, drank the draught, and settled back into the cot, picking out the voices of her advisors arguing in the distance. Even with the angry tone, she smiled as she distinguished the Commander’s voice. He’d survived, thank the Creators. She had the sudden memory of seeing him in the snow. Had he been the one to find her?

As the draught did its work, the haze she’d only just shaken off encroached on her thoughts once more, the medicine sweeping broken pieces of consciousness into the furthest recesses of her mind. Within minutes, she blacked out again.

She woke hours later, this time in the dark and with Mother Giselle by her side. She listened with increasing discomfort as the Mother talked to her - about her, really - as the a true symbol of hope for the people. Evana didn’t feel like a symbol of hope. She felt tired and sore and horrified by her encounter with the Elder One, who called himself Corypheus.

Everything rushed back to her… the fear as the ten-foot-tall, hideous monster and his dragon bore down on her, the agony as he wrenched her up by one arm and attempted to rip the so-called “anchor” from her hand, the anger as he described his place as their god - for, according to him, he had been to the Golden City and the seat of the Maker was empty.

She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to spill over her lids. Her only comfort had been Corypheus’ look of astonished outrage as she released the trebuchet and buried Haven. Of course, he’d escaped on his dragon, but the immediate threat was gone, as was much of his army.

Then had come the interminable march through the blizzard - unclear if she were even on the right path, in pain from her numerous injuries, barely conscious but forcing her body forward, ever forward. They needed her - or rather, her hand - to close the many remaining rifts throughout Thedas. Despite certainty that the cold would eventually claim her life, her innate stubbornness pushed her onward, step by step, mile after mile, until her body simply gave out…

But not before the solitary walk had led her far too deeply in inside her own mind, a road tread easily enough by one in her state. Thoughts of those lost, both known and unknown to her, pulled her deep into the familiar and festering bog of guilt and remorse that always lingered just below her surface. She heard their accusations howling in the bitter winds - how she should have done more, should have closed the Breach earlier, should have known the Elder One would attack.

Her salvation had come when, fragile and quiet, thoughts of her newly found friends appeared in the darkened pit of her mind like a guiding light - wondering if they had survived, wondering if they’d felt the same connection with her that she felt with them, wondering if she could make it back to them. And none had monopolized her hazy, pain-filled thoughts more than a certain golden-haired military man.

She shook her head in frustration. She couldn’t afford to think about that right now. They had to figure out how to survive this first.

As the Chantry Mother continued speaking, Evana wearily wondered if the advisors would ever stop arguing. She didn’t even know if she believed in a Maker or Creators - or anything really - and here was Mother Giselle telling her how her appearance after such a fight bordered on a resurrection. How she was a figure of _inspiration_ for the people. She cringed. It was terrifying enough to have these people thinking of her as a Herald of their prophet, let alone as a savior risen from certain death.

“Mother Giselle, I just don’t see how what I believe matters. This Elder One… this Corypheus as he calls himself, is a real, physical threat. We can’t match that with hope alone.”

Evana stood up from her cot and gingerly walked to the edge of the shelter, looking out over the people and tents huddled together in this sheltered crook in the mountain. She adjusted her shoulders to accommodate the pain and noticed her advisors had finally stopped arguing. They were strewn about the camp looking angry but also a bit lost and dejected.

She could relate.

From behind her, Mother Giselle’s voice rose, soft at first but quickly turning strong and even, in what she could only imagine to be a Chant of some sort. It was unlike any Dalish song she’d ever heard, but something in the Mother’s voice soothed her tired spirit. Soon, Leliana’s clear voice joined the Mother’s, and then more voices. She looked to Cullen and saw him close his eyes and join his smooth baritone to the chorus as well. Suddenly, the gathered people began kneeling in front of her as they sang.

_Oh, Creators, no! Don’t do that!_

Her brow furrowed in displeasure. Did she have no choice in the matter? Even if fate or some higher power led her here, where she could help, she wanted to be a savior even less than she wanted to be Keeper. She only wanted to save her friends. _Oh, how quickly things have spiraled out of control!_

A movement in the back of the camp caught her eye, and she locked gazes with the boy who had come to warn them of the attack, Cole. He seemed to understand. He rose from a pallid Chancellor Roderick, and she realized the holy man must be dead. The boy’s eyes were sympathetic, as if to say to her _this is how you help_. She smiled wanly at him.

When the song ended, she could only stand in silence. Mother Giselle passed by her and simply said, “An army needs more than an enemy. It needs a cause.”

And to Evana’s astonishment, she saw it to be true. The mood in the camp had shifted significantly. Groups of people were laughing and smiling where only moments ago they had been sullen. She saw Josephine smile and take Leliana’s hand.

Evana’s eyes searched for Cullen and found him already gazing at her. His face reflected an undeniable warmth as his lips turned upward in a tentative half smile, and he took a step toward her. Solas, however, had apparently circled around and now moved behind her to place a gentle hand on her waist and murmur in her ear.

“A word?”

She glanced at Cullen, whose smile had faltered slightly. She sent him a quick smile back and then followed the other elf out into the darkness.

 

**

 

Before dawn the next day, Evana and Solas woke the advisors and told them to pack everyone up as best they could. They had to move north. In the Fade, Solas had seen a stronghold in the depths of the Frostbacks, empty and waiting for a group like them to inhabit it. That was their destination.

Solas had also seen that the orb Corypheus used to open the Breach and destroy the Conclave was elven in origin. But they decided that would be a story for another time.

To her amazement, no one argued or hesitated. Josephine wrangled the people into groups, Leliana arranged her remaining agents to scout forward for a path, and Cullen organized his troops still in good health to help the wounded and other civilians prepare for the journey. Thankfully, the mage healers had been at work for most of the night, so only the worst of the wounded remained unable to walk. They fashioned stretchers for the recuperating, and the sleepless mages rode the mounts that Dennet and his stablehands had managed to save.

The sun shone down on them as they walked, and she reveled in the warmth. She spent most of her time with the scouts seeking out the best path and redirecting the refugees if they discovered an obstacle. When she did wander back to the group, she felt the mood shift as they saw her. People would nod and smile at her, whispering to their children to stand up straight and behave for the Herald of Andraste, their savior and guide.

The acceptance felt foreign. Even in her own clan, she’d struggled with feeling like an outsider more often than not. Now this? The guilt threatened to lead her down that dark path once more as she thought about how they never would have been in danger if it weren’t for her.

But instead of allowing it to ensnare her, she redirected her thoughts to higher ground. She’d seen the future in Redcliffe. No one was safe from the Elder One - this Corypheus. She had no guarantee Thedas wouldn’t fall even with her around to fight against this chaos, but without her, Thedas was surely doomed.

She grimaced. _No pressure or anything._

As she walked along with the group, she often noticed Cullen walking nearby, though he never came close enough to speak. On their third day of travel, around noon, she stopped to look back and saw him walking just behind her. She waited for him to catch her, and they fell in step. The typical comfortable silence cocooned them, but she sensed something different about it. In fact, since their conversation in the Chantry, he’d often worn a subtle kind of warmth in his face when he looked at her - a softness and yet fierceness she’d never seen on him before… His rumbling and slightly rough voice roused her from her musings.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better, my lady.”

She cast him a sidelong glance. “I hear from Solas that I have you to thank for that, though he doesn’t seem to take credit for all the healing work he and the others did for me. It was really you who found me in the snow and carried me back?”

Cullen’s jaw clenched, but he continued staring straight forward. “I - yes.”

“I’m glad I wasn’t hallucinating when I saw your face in the moonlight. I’m sorry if I caused any concern by passing out. I think my brain registered that you would protect me from further harm and just shut down.”

“Always.”

His voice came out forceful and - did she hear a tremble in his normally strong tone? She quickly turned to look at him, but he had been called away by one of his lieutenants to help with a problem in the back of the group. He nodded to her without looking at her, and she sighed.

Memories from that interminable night had returned to her gradually over the last couple of days, and the most startling had been the realization of how important he’d become to her - far more than was proper for the future Keeper of Clan Lavellan. And all this in spite of how she _knew_ he felt about mages. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from him on their first personal conversation after such horrible events - or even what she _wanted_ from him.

And it was time to check in with the scouts anyway.

Toward the afternoon, she and Solas had fallen to the middle of the caravan as they intently discussed the evolution of the anchor’s power. After her encounter with Corypheus, she’d discovered she had the ability to open small, temporary rifts, and the new power frightened her.

“But the power only appeared after Corypheus attempted to remove the Anchor?” Solas asked, his voice a strange mixture of concern and fascination.

Evana nodded. “Yes. I wish I could explain to you how I knew to use it. Being Dalish, I’m used to older types magic, but nothing like this.”

“It is likely your instincts guided you in this. You’ve become accustomed to the Anchor’s power… unless… were you in danger during the point at which you used the rift magic?”

“Yes. There were demons. I would have… Without the anchor’s power, I would likely not be standing here now.”

She didn’t dare look at him, fearing his disapproval. However, his next comment came without any hint of reproach.

“Perhaps your will directed the Anchor out of sheer self-preservation. We will need to do more tests-”

“But it drained my mana like nothing I’ve…” she interrupted and then shuddered. “I walked for at least an hour before I could even cast a minor warming spell over myself.”

“Hmmmm. Yes. That is problematic, though not surprising. Have you noticed any abnormalities since then?”

“The Anchor has been acting up more than usual, but I can handle it,” she assured him.

Solas brow creased into a deep frown, and he caught her gaze, his blue-gray eyes sharp and piercing like a well-placed arrow to the chest. Her heart leapt - whether out of fear or something else, she didn’t know - at such a direct and dangerous look. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks, grabbing her hand to pull her to a stop as well.

“Lethallan, what do you mean by ‘handle’? Does the Anchor cause you pain?”

The disapproval she feared hadn’t materialized, but the concern now filling his eyes was almost worse. Evana tried to ignore the curious looks of those who passed by as she leveled her gaze with his. She pulled on his hand to get him walking again while responding in a lowered tone.

“You’ve been with me in the field. You’ve seen how it becomes more active after I close several rifts at once.”

Solas sighed heavily. “Yes. However, I did not know that activity caused you _pain_. How long has this been going on?”

As he spoke, Solas lifted her hand to study her left palm, pulling her closer to him in the process. She realized he’d been holding onto her hand since they’d resumed walking, and an embarrassed blush tinged her cheeks.

When she didn’t respond immediately to his question, Solas looked up and seemed a bit startled by her proximity. He released her hand, and she stepped away to deliver her response.

“Since the beginning,” she admitted. “Stabilizing the Breach lessened the pain, but the Anchor has always been painful, Solas.”

The disappointment finally made an appearance. “How can I help you if I do not know what you suffer, lethallan? When we are settled in our new location, I will wish to do some additional observation and testing on the Anchor. Perhaps…”

The other elf descended into silence, now lost in his musings, and she breathed out a silent sigh of relief that he’d not been too terribly angry with her. Truly, she could handle the pain. On days when she closed no rifts, she barely noticed it.

They walked in silence for a time, Solas still deep in thought. As they crested a new hill, however, a figure appeared on her opposite side just as a warm hand slipped into hers. A fond smile bloomed on her lips, and she squeezed the hand and turned to Dorian as he started swinging their arms back and forth as if they were children. She had been leery of his touches and endearments at first, but after their time in that dark future and the days spent together before closing the Breach, she felt a unique connection with the Tevinter mage. She had also seen him do the same to several of the other mages, men and women alike. It seemed to be his way. She’d never experienced such casual touching before, but once she understood he didn’t mean anything by it, she let herself enjoy the full-hearted, friendly feeling it gave her.

“Hello there, my little Snowflake,” he greeted her. “How are you feeling after your death-defying escape from a darkspawn magister?”

“Oh, just fine, and a good day to you, too. Where have you been?”

Dorian looked a little offended, but she could see the mockery in his eyes. “I’ve been helping your rustic, southern mages stay organized and useful. It’s amazing how quickly townsfolk see the value of a bunch of healers when a tragedy strikes.”

She heard Solas chuckle lightly on her other side. “Indeed.”

Dorian smiled. “The templars have come to check on them a few times, but I think the senior mages are beginning to take the Seeker’s words to heart. They are now eager to earn their own way without the help of anyone - especially the templars.”

Evana recalled the conversation she’d had with Cassandra about the mages acting like petulant children when the reality of freedom hadn’t been what they expected. Freedom was like that. You might be free to do as you please, but you also had to take on all the consequences of your actions. The Inquisition would provide them a place, but it would be up to them to earn their keep like everyone else. Evana fully supported Cassandra’s tact. The mages needed to learn to be independent or their self-governance would never last. She would see them succeed, even if she had to force them into it.

“Your handsome Commander keeps looking for you, too. His eyes are turned your direction every time I see him.”

Evana started and looked back to see that Cullen and Rylen were close behind them. “What? He is? I mean… no… he’s not _my_... that is…”

She glared at Dorian and sighed in frustration at tripping over her own tongue. Dorian just laughed. Taking a breath, she finally managed a complete sentence.

“You’re reading too much into it. I’ve already talked with him, and he didn’t have much to say.”

“Likely too many scary emotions for his callous templar brain to process at the moment. Give him some time. He’ll work things out and find his words.”

Evana gave him an exasperated look. “Dorian, what are you talking about?” She looked from Dorian to Solas. The older elf had suddenly furrowed his brow and wouldn’t look at her at all. She sighed. “Nevermind. I don’t want to know.”

Dorian just laughed at her and continued to swing their arms together. “Oh, yes, you _really_ do.”

She felt the heat suffuse her face, and she dropped his hand abruptly. “Stop your teasing, will you!? You’re horrible! You and Varric… I swear...”

He raised his hands and began backing away from her. “Fine, I see when I’m not wanted. I’ll be leaving now. At least your mage army seems to actually _appreciate_ my wonderfulness, even if I am a ‘nasty ‘Vint.’”

She turned backward and reached out for him, laughing as she grabbed his hand again. “Oh, you’re not getting away that easily!”

Behind Dorian, she saw Cullen look up at them. He immediately turned away again, and Evana dropped Dorian’s hand instantly. Turning around to see the Commander so close, Dorian cocked a brow and gave her a significant smile. She swallowed hard, suddenly feeling a bit breathless.

“Uh, nevermind. I have to go check on the scouts. Solas?”

Solas looked over at her, his face instantly smoothing into serenity at her voice addressing him. “Of course, lethallan. We should be nearing the place now.”

Despite her soreness from her injuries, the lithe elves quickly outstripped the rest of the group. They were just in time to meet a forward scout rushing back to them, eyes wide.

“Master Solas, Your Worship… I - I think we’ve found it!”

As the two crested the hill, Evana felt all the air rush out of her lungs. There, across the mountain valley, bathed in the afternoon sun, stood a stone fortress. It was magnificent… and massive.

“This is a place where the Inquisition can build, grow,” Solas intoned. “According to the memories in the Fade, it is called Tarasyl'an te'las - or Skyhold in the Common language.”

“The place where the sky was held back,” she murmured as she moved forward, eagerness overtaking her exhaustion.

The way to the fortress was not easy, but she and Solas moved forward with the scouts, picking out the least dangerous paths. They knew the instant the first part of their group crested the hill above. Swelling sounds of cheers and laughter echoed through the giant chasm.

When she and Solas finally reached the gates, they stopped to wait for the advisors. They’d directed the scouts to keep the people in the valley until the structure had been deemed safe, but one look at the massive stone walls told her the people would sleep in a sheltered place tonight. Once the advisors arrived with a few builders in tow, they walked into the overgrown courtyard together, a sense of hope filling them all.

Although permeated by a general air of dilapidation, as they took a quick tour of the buildings and ramparts, they found the structure to be in remarkably good shape. Solas offered that the ancient spells saturating the stones had reduced wear and greatly enhanced wall integrity. It would be a lot of work, but the bones of the place exuded strength. They all looked at each other and knew Solas was right. This was a place they could grow.

They worked late into the night to move people into the safety of the keep and get everyone set up with a place to sleep. The next day, the work began in earnest. Cullen directed the soldiers and able-bodied civilians to clear out the growth from the courtyard and set up temporary shelters. He then took up post in the lower courtyard near the steps to the upper courtyard to organize the setup of temporary spaces while Evana and the rest of the advisors, along with the master builders, determined the necessary renovations for office and living spaces within the main structure.

When Evana stumbled across a giant forge off the main hall, she immediately left the group to find Harritt. She wound through the bustling courtyards, searching for the gruff blacksmith, and she finally found him in the lower courtyard directing soldiers to move his belongings to a corner across from the stables. Evana quickly directed them instead to follow her and excitedly grabbed Harritt’s hand.

“Just you wait and see what I’ve found for you!”

When they arrived at the yawning cavern, Harritt stood speechless at the gaping hole in the side of the room.

“Are you trying to tell me something, lady Herald?”

“What? No! Our builders have said the structure is sound. They have no doubt that this area is secure. And Harritt, just _look_ at this forge. Isn’t it magnificent? I just thought you’d like… would you like to be elsewhere?”

She suddenly felt insecure. In her excitement, she hadn’t thought… but Harritt’s normal taciturn demeanor broke into a marvelous grin.

“Aw, I was just giving you a little sport. Didn’t mean to upset you.” Harritt gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder. “The hole is there on purpose, my lady. Once this massive forge is running, the builders’ll understand why there’s a giant hole in the side of this room, too. It’s absolutely the most perfect spot I could think of, and thanks to the Iron Bull breaking that door down on your all’s way to the Chantry, I have tools to get started right away.”

“Oh, no, I’m not - I mean, you don’t have to get right to work. I was just excited to show you. Please, take some time to get settled.”

“I think you know that I live for my work, my lady, as would you if given the opportunity. Speaking of… the Commander commissioned a new arming doublet, and I’ve got an idea that involves some leather work. Would you be interested…?”

She gave the older man a shy grin as she backed away. “I would be honored. I’ll try to find a spare moment in the coming weeks.”

“Good luck with that, Herald!” he called after her with a pleased chuckle.

They all worked late into the night clearing out rooms and setting up tents for the wounded. After admonishments from Josephine and threats from Cassandra, Evana finally found a stray bedroll and a corner in the debris-filled great hall that had not yet been claimed. She rested for a few hours, trying desperately not to think about the many lives they had lost, and fortunately, her brain quieted long enough for her to fall asleep.

Unfortunately, she had nightmares instead. The terrifying but manageable dreams that had plagued her since her time in Redcliffe now featured red lyrium monsters as well. She woke in a cold sweat in the wee hours of the following morning, and rather than go back to sleep, she returned to the mind-numbing work of clearing out a castle.

 _Still not early enough to beat Cullen_ , she noted as she passed by him at his station in the lower courtyard. He glanced at her and nodded briefly. She returned the gesture and moved on to the infirmary, trying to stave off the increasing disappointment at his distance.

After two days of hard work, most of the people had been settled either in the valley below or in the courtyards, and the advisors collected Evana and Cassandra in the upper courtyard to discuss their next moves. Supplies were dangerously low, and Leliana briefed them on her scouts’ reports on possible paths and potential merchant routes. Cullen shook his head and sighed.

“We’ll be fine for a few more days, maybe a week, but if we don’t get our supply lines up and running again, all of this will have been for nothing,” he warned.

“That is what I am trying to do,” Leliana replied evenly. “If you will lend me the support of your troops, I believe we can get an initial supply of food and essentials here within a couple of days.”

Cullen nodded. “My troops are at your disposal. I’ll inform Captain Rylen and the lieutenants to be ready to move at your command.”

“Thank you, Commander.” Leliana then turned to Evana. “Are the mages getting settled?”

“Yes,” Evana replied, “although it took some time to find an area that they thought would be appropriate. I admit, I had to take a page from Cassandra’s book and tell them to deal with it. They are becoming more self-sufficient every day, though, and I’m pleased with their progress.”

Cassandra snorted, but said nothing. Cullen smiled wryly, and to her surprise, he turned and spoke directly to her, his amber eyes glowing molten gold in the afternoon sunlight in spite of the dark circles under his eyes.

“And despite initial misgivings, the mage healers have been a most welcome addition to the soldiers and townsfolk alike. It has done much to… ease tensions for the mages to be seen so obviously healing their Herald as well as many of the soldiers. I’m… pleased by their efforts as well as their proficiency during battle. Many of our soldiers wouldn’t have survived without their offensive spells and barriers.”

Evana looked down to hide her deliriously pleased grin. That couldn’t have been easy for him to say. When she looked up again, she caught and held his gaze for the first time since their journey to Skyhold. Her grin faded into a soft smile, and she saw him take a deep breath before finally dropping his eyes to a report he held in his hand. Yes, he’d been distant since the attack on Haven, but perhaps she was overreacting. They’d both been unbelievably busy, and much remained to be done. Leliana began speaking to her again, so Evana turned her attention back to the task at hand.

“We also need to get back to business as soon as possible, no? Which means things like writing up reports of your battle with this Corypheus. You’ve given us the short version already, but you should also write down as much as you remember before your memory of it begins to fade. Cassandra, Bull and Varric have already given us their accounts, but they weren’t there for your interaction with Corypheus.”

Evana shuddered involuntarily. Other than her nightmares, burying herself in work had allowed her to hide from the fear and pain of that night. Was it only a few days ago that she’d closed the Breach? It felt more like an eternity. Bile rose up in her throat as she thought of the grotesque magister standing in front of her, malice and hatred oozing from him as he ripped her upwards, tearing her arm from its socket, and then threw her away like a rag doll. Luckily - for it couldn't be anything but luck - he’d thrown her against the trebuchet. She wondered briefly what would’ve happened if he’d thrown her in the opposite direction. Would she have been able to get past him and release the trebuchet before he ended her? Probably not.

Carefully keeping her expression neutral, she leaned forward on a small table they were using for reports and fought back against the emotional response. She needed to be strong. She pulled on all her training - both as First and as Herald - and took a deep breath. Lifting her head a little higher, she gave them a small smile.

“Of course. I’ll sit down and write it up this evening.”

Leliana nodded. “Well, that is all we have time to discuss right now… unless someone has another pressing matter?” The spymaster looked at each of them in turn. Seeing no objection, she moved away from the table. “Then let us return to our work.”

Everyone broke away except her, and she leaned more heavily against the table to collect herself. In her peripheral vision, she saw Cullen hesitate. When she looked up to give him a reassuring smile, she found him gazing at her, the warmth in his return smile noticeably mixed with concern. She nodded, and after another moment of hesitation, he nodded back and returned to the lower courtyard.

She really needed to talk with him… to tell him… What? That she was grateful for his help? That without his presence in the Chantry, she probably wouldn’t have been able to do what she did? That she felt incredibly selfish about how glad she was that he, in particular, had survived? That she’d come to realize how important he was to her?

She couldn’t. They were friends. She felt comfortable in his company - more so than she felt with most of her clan. They were fighting a war with a common goal. But after several months, they still knew so little about each other, and the things they _did_ know… She doubted he would ever want her in that way, and even if he did, he was human. Although she now identified much more personally with the goal and cause of the Inquisition, she could not ignore the duty to the People instilled in her by Deshanna… could she?

Her brush with death had exposed the raw ache in her heart - the yearning for so much more than a confined life as clan Keeper. Furthermore, she recognized the ache. She’d felt it as a child begging her mother for more stories about humans, as a wide-eyed teen trading her crafting for human and dwarven history books, and most recently as the lonely woman who’d secretly relished the assignment to spy on the Conclave. Had Deshanna known? Had she hoped that the truth of how humans behaved toward one another in such a place would smother this yearning for _more_ that had plagued Evana from almost her first breath? If Deshanna had planned it thus, her plan had backfired miserably. The more time Evana spent with her companions and the advisors, the weaker her desire to return to that stifling way of life - to the clan that merely tolerated her - became.

In addition to all this, she found her heart had betrayed her as well. The ache in her chest intensified as she admitted to herself that she yearned for more than the simple and tenuous friendship she’d cultivated with the Commander. She found him insanely attractive - to the point of losing words when watching him speak - and even his voice now sent pleasant shivers down her spine. She’d never found humans as unattractive as many in her clan seemed to, but if she’d been told when she met Cullen that first day in the Chantry that she’d be a quivering mess after just a glance from him, she’d have laughed. He was so unlike Hanir and any of the other elven men she’d ever met. Perhaps it was this difference that actually drew her to him?

According to Dorian and Varric, he found her attractive as well, but she simply couldn’t believe he would ever consider being with a mage - a wild, Dalish one at that - in any real, significant way. Despite a lifetime of practicing her craft with Deshanna, she’d never been in a Circle, never “proven” herself in their so-called Harrowings.

And he’d made his view on mages clear from the start. He’d never tried to hide his feelings or pretend he agreed with her, though his recent praise gave her pause. _Is he changing his views because of me?_ She tried not to think of that, but it made her both honored and nervous. She wished to be an example for the mages, but she knew that despite the great strides they had made with the Inquisition in the last couple of weeks, Cullen was right to an extent. In the wrong hands, magic _was_ dangerous. They only needed to look at Corypheus for proof of that.

And perhaps she was only thinking about all of this in order to avoid reliving the blinding pain, fear and eventual anger at Corypheus’ arrogance and disregard for life. The anger had been what kept her calm, oddly enough. She had nearly fainted with fear at his appearance, but the more he’d talked about his godhood, the more disgusted she’d become.

Anger had certainly become a useful tool for her in recent weeks. The more passion and connection she felt with her friends, the more angry she became at those who would threaten them. With a stab of guilt, she realized that this was likely how she was _supposed_ to feel for her clan.

Finally pushing off from the table, she walked up the stairs, through the great hall and took the first door on the right into a rotunda. Looking for a quiet space to write, she took the stairs to the second level, which held a modest library.

When they’d discovered the space, Dorian had instantly declared it a disgrace to the name library and lamented its piddling twenty bookshelves. But books were books, and he’d grudgingly taken up the cause anyway. Everything had been covered in dust when they arrived, but Minaeve, Dorian and the other researchers had already made significant progress in cleaning and repairing the books.

She wished Dorian were there to distract her from her task, but he’d gone to train with mages for the afternoon. So she stole a few pieces of parchment from Minaeve’s stack and sat down at one of the many tables to write out her report.

At first, work continued around her, but after hours of struggling to write out her experiences, she looked up to find herself alone. The darkness outside the windows told her they’d likely abandoned their work for the evening meal, such as it was. Throwing down her quill, she leaned back in her chair and rubbed at her face in an attempt to keep her emotions in check.

She’d been as detached as possible while writing, but the prick of tears that now stung her eyes wasn’t for a self-proclaimed god. She’d come to the end but struggled to keep that detached tone while writing up her final moments before Cullen found her. She vividly remembered her relief at hearing his voice in the distance - not only because it meant a rescue, but because it meant he’d survived. She remembered the swift crunching of boots in snow as he rushed to her, anticipation and relief and exhaustion and pain all wrapped up in the moment. She remembered the overwhelming joy rush through her as his concerned face appeared before hers and his strong arms wrapped around her, holding her to him ferociously and yet tenderly as he whispered affirmations in her ear. She remembered thinking _If this is the end, it’s not a bad way to go._ Then Solas had told her that Cullen and Cassandra were the only ones who hadn’t given up hope, and the memory of it nearly undid her.

She couldn’t write any of that, of course.

Wiping away the single tear that had escaped her tight control, she steeled herself and finished the report. Usually, she tried to add a little flourish and detail to her reports, but this one was dry and generic just as Cassandra had taught her all those months ago in the Hinterlands. It was all she could manage. Closing up the ink well, she gathered up the papers and took them upstairs to the rookery where Leliana had made her office. Crows flapped and squawked nervously at her in the otherwise empty room. She laid the parchment on Leliana’s desk and descended again to find a new job to distract her from her tumultuous thoughts.

 

**

 

The next few days were a repeat of the same routine. They all worked from dawn to late into the night, barely talking with each other in their busy-ness except to meet in the courtyard and make hurried plans. Evana went everywhere, helping in any way she could - sometimes just listening to the citizens talk to her, sometimes assisting with potions in the infirmary, sometimes passing out food and more blankets and other times digging in with all her strength to move and repair anything that needed it. She worked late into the night and slept only a few hours before rising again to tackle the next set of problems.

The nightmares couldn’t riddle her sleep if she didn’t sleep long enough to remember them.

At the end of their second week in Skyhold, after helping a laborer clean out and set up a room for occupants, she emerged from the room to see the advisors and Cassandra speaking in the lower courtyard. They all nodded to each other, and Cassandra caught her eye, motioning her over. The advisors all dispersed before she arrived, and Evana felt something drop in the pit of her stomach. As she approached, Cassandra waved toward the people who were just arriving through the gates.

“They arrive daily from every settlement in the region. Skyhold is becoming something of a pilgrimage.” She turned her gaze back to Evana and started walking up the stairs to the upper courtyard. “If word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One. We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated.”

Evana had come to that conclusion herself in the last few days. She had already determined after the events at Redcliffe that she wouldn’t be going home until all possibility of that future had been erased, but now…

As she’d helped the people settle into Skyhold, a new and unfamiliar feeling had come over her. Satisfaction… and _belonging_.

The walls of Skyhold welcomed her - she felt the acceptance in her bones - and returning to her clan to resume her old life had felt suddenly, inescapably _wrong_. She belonged here with the Inquisition, helping for as long as they needed her.

“But we now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus,” Cassandra continued, “what drew him to you.”

Evana looked at the mark sparking to life in her palm. It had been acting up more as she continued to work harder and get less sleep, but she pushed away the pain that shot through her at every spark. Too many people relied on her to slow down now.

“He came for this,” she mused ruefully, “but now he knows it’s useless to him, so he wants me dead.”

Cassandra shook her head, and Evana looked to her, confused. What could she be talking about if not the mark?

“The Anchor has power, but it’s not why you’re still standing here. Your _decisions_ let us heal the sky. Your _determination_ brought us out of Haven. You are the creature’s rival because of what _you_ did, and we all know it - all of us.”

A surge of adrenaline shot through her body as she processed Cassandra’s words. They valued _her_ above the mark? _But that’s just crazy! Why…?_

They had now started up the stairs to the great hall, and Evana saw Leliana on the landing, holding a giant sword. Cassandra’s voice continued, and Evana worked frantically to squash the panic now rising up in her gut. _Fenedhis! What’s this all about?_

“The Inquisition requires a leader. The one who has already been leading it. _You_.”

A part of her screamed to run away, but the new feeling of belonging burgeoned in that moment as she looked down at the people who had gathered below to see the spectacle. She remembered how Mother Giselle had shown her the power of uniting under a cause that night after she sealed the Breach. Then her eyes landed on Cullen, and he looked up at her with a soft smile on his face. He tilted his head slightly when he saw her look his way, as if to acknowledge his complicity in all this, and she wondered anew. The ex-templar looked… _pleased._ Pleased to serve under a mage? Turning back to Cassandra, she couldn’t keep the astonishment from her face or voice.

“Perhaps I didn’t hear you correctly. A mage - and an _elf_ \- at the head of the Inquisition?”

“Not just a mage. Not just an elf. _You_.”

Evana shook her head. “I happen to _be_ both of those things. They are integral parts of who I am and will not go away simply because you wish me to lead. Who will respect a person most think of as a slave with a gift most see as a curse?”

Cassandra’s honesty humbled her even as the Seeker pointed her toward the sword in Leliana’s hands. “I will not pretend no one will object - that you won’t be faced with prejudice and distrust - but times are changing. Perhaps this is what the Maker intended. There would be no Inquisition without you. How it will serve - how _you_ lead - that must be yours to decide.”

Evana moved forward and stared at the ornate sword for a moment. Old doubts surged through her. They couldn’t really want her for _her_. They merely needed a figurehead, and she had the mark. Just as it had to be her who stayed behind to face the Elder One that night, it had to be her who lead them now. And if that’s what it took to rid the world of Corypheus… to keep this feeling of purpose and possibility alive just a bit longer…

A steely resolve came over her as she reached for the sword, using both hands to lift it from Leliana’s grasp. _No. They believe in me. I need to start believing in myself._

“Corypheus will never let me live in peace. He made that clear. He intends to be a god, to rule over us all… With fear running rampant, the people need to see someone standing for what is right. Corypheus _must_ be stopped.”

“Wherever you lead us,” Cassandra said before stepping forward on the landing and shouting into the crowd. “Have our people been told?”

Josephine stepped forward. “They have - and soon, the world!”

“Commander, will they follow?”

She saw Cullen turn to the crowd.

“Inquisition, will you follow?”

A great roar of affirmation came up from the people and soldiers. He shouted again.

“Will you fight?”

Another great roar.

“And will we triumph?”

The people were in a near frenzy at this point. He turned, unsheathing his sword to raise it to her.

“Your leader! Your Herald! Your Inquisitor!”

There was nothing for it. She raised her sword in response. She was now their Inquisitor. _Creators, help us all. And the Maker, too, if He exists._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've already started writing the next chapter (because I had this one done and just hadn't had time to post). I can't tell you how excited I am to share chapter 20... get ready for the sarcasm queen!


	20. In which a champion comes out to play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric recruits a little help and then deals with the fall out.

Varric had been waiting in the wings for the announcement. The advisors told the inner circle about the event as a courtesy in case they wished to watch the spectacle. And watch he did, more out of curiosity over Snowflake’s reaction than anything else.

Her face contorted as she wrestled with the weight of it all, but he wasn’t worried. The strength flowing through her and out of her shone brighter with each passing day, though Varric doubted she recognized her own growth in confidence and abilities. Her humility concerning her significant magical power constantly amazed him.

But then again, perhaps he was simply used to keeping a different sort of company.

After the frenzy died down a bit, he circumspectly nodded to the figure in the shadows behind him and made his way down to the courtyard.

Leliana’s initial misgivings about the missing Grey Wardens had made him uneasy, but he’d kept his thoughts to himself. As they continued to search Ferelden throughout their travels, however, the persistent silence became more alarming. The missing Wardens along with the reappearance of Corypheus at Haven had finally pushed Varric into action.

No way this was a coincidence. Corypheus was _dead_. They’d _killed_ him. How in the name of the Maferath’s balls was the bastard still alive?

He’d sent for his friend as soon as they reached Skyhold. Snowflake needed to know everything she could if she were going to oppose this void-taken, darkspawn asshole.

After a brief conversation with their new Inquisitor, Varric sauntered past Cassandra as nonchalantly as possible. The Seeker would have his head on a platter when she found out who he’d contacted, but if they were lucky, he’d be able to get Marian Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, out of the fortress and on her way before Cassandra even knew she’d been there.

He’d deal with the fallout later.

Hawke had arrived in the valley earlier that day, so he’d smuggled her into the dilapidated corner tower to wait for the hubbub to die down. No one but the guards usually walked the ramparts, and most just had their small section between towers to patrol. They should be free from interruptions until their newly appointed Inquisitor could meet them with them.

As Varric entered the tower, Hawke leaned forward in the rickety chair she’d chosen for herself. The movement seemed innocuous, but he knew that underneath her blythe exterior beat the heart of a woman who’d experienced too many horrors to properly relax, even in a so-called safe environment. Her shoulders lost some of their tension as she recognized him, but she still sat at the ready, muscles primed and coiled into ever-vigilant battle mode.

Unafraid, he found a sturdy-looking stool and settled beside her in a comfortable quiet. He’d always loved that about their friendship. They could laugh, make a ruckus and cause all kinds of trouble together, but they’d always been fine just sitting in silence when one or the other of them needed it. She’d once spent a full day in silence with him after they’d rescued his lyrium-crazed brother. No one could ask for a better or truer friend than Marian Hawke. That their one-time friend Isabella had simply taken off and never returned, leaving Hawke to deal with the rogue’s not-insignificant Arishok problems, had always left him a bit sore. Who could betray such a loyal friend as Hawke? Not him. Not in a million years.

Now, Hawke just looked at him for a moment, a bright sheen gathering in her eyes. She was thinking back to their years together in Kirkwall, too. He knew it as surely as he knew the scar between her shoulder blades where one of her supposed “friends” had literally stabbed her in the back. _He’d_ sat with _her_ then, nursing her back to health. Varric felt a corresponding sting in the back of his eyes and shook his head.

“Don’t do that, Hawke. You’ve already hugged the stuffing out of me, and despite what Sparkler might say, it’s not dusty enough in here to blame the allergies.”

She laughed but also turned away a moment. When she looked at him again, her eyes were clear… and glinted with a familiar, impish delight.

“So… I take it you’re enjoying your new adventures?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it _enjoyment_ , exactly. But we’re doing good work here, so… I guess I’m glad I’m here, yeah.”

She hummed noncommittally. “Better than the shit we went through in Kirkwall? Or about the same?”

“Better… and worse. But you already know that. It’s why you’re here now.”

“Yes, I know,” she mumbled unhappily under her breath. In the next instant, she smiled again. “I’m honestly surprised the Seeker didn’t find me sooner. _You_ didn’t happen to have anything to do with that, did you?”

The sparkle in Hawke’s chestnut eyes told him she already knew the answer.

“You know very well that I did everything in my power to protect you from this Inquisition,” he countered. “I thought you’d already done your share to save Thedas from the bad guys.”

Hawke laughed again at her old friend, and a comforting warmth spread through his body, starting in his chest and spreading outward, covering and filling him in a way only she could. Damn, but he’d _missed_ her. With a final chuckle, she swiped the bottle he’d been nursing right out of his hands. After a long swig, she replied.

“Although I appreciate your concern, I’ve been known to be able to take care of myself.” She lifted a free hand as if to stop him from protesting. “I understand. It’s shocking to me, too. But even the fuck-ups eventually get things right now and again.”

“Aww, Hawke. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Life handed you shit, but you gave it shit right back. You’re even famous all over Thedas now, or so I’m told.”

Hawke snorted, her short platinum ponytail jerking with the effort. “When a snarky dwarf writes a book entitled _Tale of the Champion_ with you as the centerpiece, it’s sort of inevitable.”

“Yes… well, it’s not my fault the Seeker keeps up with modern literature.”

“Ha! Modern literature? No, no. It’s clear to me that she actually reads sordid romance novels about dashing heroes and heroines… in between running demons through and oppressing the,” Hawke’s voice suddenly turned melodramatic, “eeeevil maaaages, of course. Why else would she be so severe?”

It was Varric’s turn to laugh. “Romance? Now I know for _certain_ that you’ve never met our Seeker. The day she reads a romance novel is the day-”

“Ah, ah, ah…” Hawke interrupted in a sing-songy tone of warning as she waggled a finger at him. “Don’t say anything you might come to regret, my dear friend. I have it on good authority that warrior women often have a softer side kept hidden from the world at large.”

Varric hummed in amusement. “I’ll take that under advisement. You wouldn’t happen to be referring to anyone we know?”

Hawke’s eyes glanced upward as she avoided the question, looking everywhere but at him, and she began humming a jaunty tune straight out of their favorite Kirkwall haunt, The Hanged Man. The goofy grin on her face juxtaposed with the giant greatsword strapped to her back had him laughing again.

“Alright! Keep your secrets. But just so you know, I’m going to assume both you and our warrior friend Aveline are reading awful romance novels until you prove otherwise.”

“A Champion need not prove herself to anyone!” she protested in a formal voice before descending into a tone of mock exasperation. “Haven’t I lopped off enough Qunari heads for one lifetime? Sheesh, kill off one Arishok and everyone just has _expectations_.” Her voice then morphed into a ridiculous parody of the seneschal, Bran, from Kirkwall. He was certain of it. “‘Hawke, I do wish you’d kill off the newest Arishok. I know this one is no longer threatening Kirkwall, or even _in_ Kirkwall, and you nearly died killing off that other one that _did_ invade Kirkwall, but be a good girl and get rid of this one, too? Hmmmmm?’”

Varric rolled his eyes through her diatribe and pointedly waited a full ten seconds after she’d finished before attempting to speak. In the moment of silence, she flicked her tongue out at him… but grinned right after.

“Well, if it helps,” Varric finally replied, “you can leave the Qunari here alone. He’s… a good sort. For a Qunari.”

Her entire demeanor changed, and Varric’s eyes widened before he let out a deep, long-suffering groan. He’d done it now.

“Ooo… you’ve got a _friendly_ Qunari? What’s he like? I assume he’s Tal-Vashoth?”

“You could assume that, yes, but actually…”

Hawke let out an excited “eep,” and Varric immediately began shaking his head. “No, no, no, no, _no_. Absolutely not. You _cannot_ tell him your Qun jokes.”

Her face fell dramatically, her plush lips pursed into an exaggerated pout. “Why not? I’ve got _so many_ from when they were hanging around in Kirkwall.”

“Yes. I remember,” Varric inserted with a low grumble.

“I’ve even been working on a few more lately,” she finished and then perked up as she registered Varric’s interruption. “Oh, right! I could run them by _you_! Ok, so, what do you get-”

Varric stood up, cutting her off before she could get any further. “I should get out to the battlements to meet with Inquisitor. She’ll be expecting me.”

Hawke, eyes dancing with mirth, playfully reproached him as he walked away. “You don’t like her better than me, do you?”

He ribbed her right back. “Not _better_ , just _different_. She’s about as far from your personality as possible. Can’t tease her like I tease you - though she _is_ getting better. Only certain topics really get her riled up these days.”

He realized his mistake immediately as Hawke’s eyes narrowed with the implied intrigue. He’d been away from her too long… forgotten her devilish nature. His heart filled to bursting as he took in her delighted expression.

“Oh _reeeeally_?” she prompted. “Like what?”

 _Like almost anything involving the Commander of the Inquisition._ But as much as he’d love to once again see Curly squirm under the teasing wit of the Champion - just like old days - no way would he give sarcastic Marian that kind of ammunition against Snowflake. The elven frost queen might just break and descend a reign of mage terror upon the Champion… it would be an interesting fight to say the least, but even he wasn’t sure who he would bet on at this point. Better to not let it come to that.

“Nothing for you to worry your pretty blond head about. Wait here while I go down and see if she’s there. Watch for my signal from that window.”

“Ooooh, playing spies! I like it! Should we go get your spymaster?” Hawke lowered her voice to a melodramatic whisper. “I hear she’s scary.”

Varric laughed and waved her off. “Yes, she’ll be thrilled. Just sit there and try not to cause trouble, alright?”

He only had to wait a few minutes before the Hera… the Inquisitor showed up. _That's going to take some getting used to - for all of us._ He motioned to the tower, and as Hawke descended from the tower into the small observation platform just inside the battlements, he introduced the two women. The Inquisitor showed her discomfort at first, shifting from one foot to the other with her hands clasped tightly behind her back. Soon, however, she relaxed into Hawke’s genial conversation and got down to business.

“Varric said that you fought Corypheus before.”

Hawke, now all business as well, turned from the wall she’d been leaning on. “Fought and _killed_. The Grey Wardens were holding him, and he somehow used his connection to the darkspawn to influence them.”

“Corypheus got into their heads, messed with their minds, turned them against each other,” Varric added.

Hawke looked away, her voice low. “If the Warden’s have disappeared, they could have fallen under his control again.”

“So Corypheus has the Venatori, the red templars, and now possibly the Wardens as well?” The Inquisitor sighed. “Wonderful.”

Hawke turned and shook her head. “I didn’t come this far just to give you bad news. I’ve got a friend in the Wardens. He was investigating something unrelated for me. His name is Stroud. The last time we spoke, he was worried about corruption in the Warden ranks. Since then, nothing.”

“Corypheus would certainly qualify as corruption in the ranks. Did your friend disappear with them?” Varric asked.

“No, he told me he’d be hiding in an old smuggler’s cave in Crestwood.”

Evana bowed slightly to the Champion. “I appreciate your help.”

“You’re certainly welcome, Inquisitor, but I’m doing this as much for myself as for you. Corypheus is my responsibility. I thought I’d killed him before.” Hawke’s voice descended into a low growl. “This time, I’ll make sure of it.”

Varric listened as the Inquisitor pressed Hawke for as much information about her dealings with the Elder One as possible. Once they finished, Hawke bowed.

“I have a few things to attend to, but I’ll meet you in Crestwood in a few days, Inquisitor.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. There is much to do here, but I think sooner is better than later considering the stakes.”

Hawke gave a curt nod. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Then, the Inquisitor turned to Varric. “You’ll show our guest out?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Varric confirmed with a good-natured salute.

The Inquisitor placed a hand on Varric’s shoulder and squeezed, giving him and Hawke a parting smile before heading down the ramparts toward the courtyard.

“Well, she certainly is different than me. You’re right about that. So quiet and serious… except that little crack about your Qunari. How do you cope?”

Varric smiled. “When you can stay longer, remind me to introduce you to Dorian and The Iron Bull.”

“Who are they?”

“My coping mechanisms,” Varric replied dryly. “But really, once you get to know Snowflake, she’s a lot of fun. She’s even got a sarcastic streak. She just tends to distance herself from people at first and doesn’t like large crowds.”

Hawke, still subdued from her talk with the Inquisitor, hummed thoughtfully. “Today must have been fun for her, then.”

“Yeah, but she’s strong.” Varric gave the Champion a light slap on the back. “Don’t worry. She’ll never replace you in my heart.”

Hawke narrowed her eyes, a spark of her typical mischief lighting up the chocolate depths. “Yes, but I can see her worming in there to take up residence in another part of it. Don’t you forget, you’re _my_ trusty dwarf.”

Varric made a little noise of dismissal. “Hawke, you know…”

She just laughed. “Relax, Varric. I’m just teasing. I know that no one could replace me. I’m _me_ after all!”

She winked at him, and he grumbled playfully as he pushed her toward the battlements. She obligingly pulled her hood over her head as they walked toward the gates. Her swaggering gait, however, would be unmistakable to anyone who knew her, and Varric thanked the Maker that Curly seemed to be away from his normal post.

As if she could read his mind, she leaned down a little and asked in a low voice, “You mentioned in your message that our favorite Knight-Captain is here, too?”

“Yeah. Curly's here. But don't call him Knight-Captain. He'll get all irritated and say something to the effect of-” Varric lowered his voice into an approximation of Cullen’s displeased tone. “‘I am no longer part of the Order.’”

“Really? I mean, obviously he turned against Meredith, but he's actually quit the Order? Completely?”

Her voice held only astonishment - not a note of sarcasm to be found. Varric remembered feeling much the same way when he learned the steadfast and dutiful interim Knight-Commander would be giving up his post in Kirkwall to accompany himself and Cassandra to Ferelden.

“I was skeptical at first, too, but he's almost vicious in his denial. Many of the templars here will occasionally slip up and call him Knight-Commander. He corrects them _every time_.”

“Huh.”

She remained silent until they passed by the guards and out the gate. As soon as they were out of hearing distance, she let out a little huff of amusement.

“Well, please tell _Cullen_ that I'm terribly sorry to have missed him this time around, but I'm sure I’ll be back soon to catch up and reminisce about old times.”

Varric shook his head. “And continue your tradition of attempting to make him blush with your obvious flirting? I'd be careful there.”

“What? Why? He's so much fun with his frowns and irritated huffing. I especially love how he turns that unbelievably _brilliant_ shade of red.”

“Yes,” Varric replied with a laugh, “Curly will be _so_ disappointed he missed you.” They'd reached the tower that guarded the switchback path down to the valley, so Varric stopped. “I think you can find your way from here.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow at him. “You're not going to tell me why, are you?”

“Not right now. Maybe next time.”

Hawke chuckled and kneeled down to be at eye level with him. “That's alright. I think I have an idea. I promise you, I'll be on my best behavior around your Snowflake.”

“Ha!” Varric exclaimed with a snort of disbelief. “I'll believe that when I see it.”

“Not everything has to be bizarre references and wild accusations with me. I think I acquitted myself rather well with your new Inquisitor today.”

“I suppose you did,” he admitted in a grudging tone before smiling fondly at her.

She smiled back, but Varric immediately picked up on the sadness hidden in her expression. This time, he initiated the long squeeze, and he found himself a little worried by the hint of desperation in her grip as she clung to him.

“Hey, don't worry, alright?” he soothed. “We’ll get Corypheus for sure this time.”

Her tiny whisper in his ear tore at his heart.

“This is all my fault, Varric. When will I stop fucking everything up? All those people are dead because of _me_.”

“Us, Hawke,” he corrected in her ear even as he squeezed her tighter. It felt strange to be comforting her when he struggled with his own guilt on the matter, but he soldiered on. “We're in this together. You and me, just like old times. And… if you'd known he could still be alive, you never would have let him escape. Don't blame yourself for this.”

A watery laugh escaped her as she pulled back from him. “Yes. You and me. What would I ever do without my trusty dwarf?”

“Probably live a much less dangerous life, that's for sure.”

“Ah, but where's the fun in that?”

“Hhmph,” Varric grunted. “You always have had a strange definition of fun.”

She looked at him for another moment, her eyes roving over his face as if memorizing his features. He did the same, noting that her features, always a little too “pretty and delicate” for her own liking, still held that softness that clashed into a subtle dissonance with her strong, muscular body and wild personality.

No one could be more perfect in his eyes.

“Goodbye, Varric. I'll see you again soon.”

“As if you could get rid of me. I'll make sure Snowflake drags me along to Crestwood.”

Her tone softened even further. “Good.”

Before he could react, she darted in to kiss the tip of his nose. He sputtered as she jumped up and began walking backwards away from him, laughter on her lips and a wide grin splitting her face.

“See you in a few days, then, my very best friend!”

He just shook his head, a stupid grin on his face, as she turned and disappeared down the path. He slowly wandered back to the keep, mind reeling from all the emotions brought to the surface by Hawke's presence. They now went months, even years, between visits, but each time, he felt as if they’d never been apart. Being a writer, he should have been better at parsing these things, but as with most consummate observers, he could see other’s emotions and motivations with clarity even as his own remained a mystery to him.

Varric shrugged to himself as he passed back through the gates. With Hawke, he’d long ago settled on the fact that he just… cared for her more than he cared for anyone or anything else in Thedas. He couldn’t - or maybe more accurately _wouldn’t_ \- look more deeply into it than that.

The sight of a certain Seeker walking purposefully up the steps to the upper courtyard brought his mind back to the problems at hand. He’d have to deal with Cassandra eventually - things like a visit from the Champion of Kirkwall never stayed a secret for long. Maybe it would be better to just get it over with and confront her now.

He took a deep breath and turned to follow the dragon to her lair. It felt a lot like he imagined a walk to the gallows might feel.

 

**

 

_Well, that was unexpected._

The Inquisitor had intervened in his rather unsuccessful bid to appease Cassandra, and he’d been left feeling a bit ashamed of himself. Snowflake had called him out for lying, but deep down he knew that, to protect Hawke, he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Feeling a little sorry for himself, he wandered to the great hall, which had greatly improved in the last week. The debris had been cleared out, and workers climbed about over the scaffolding as they worked on repairs to the roof and rafters. He leaned over on a random table, missing his best friend already.

When Cassandra had conscripted him into this mess, he’d never dreamed that it would eventually lead to an apparent resurrection of a darkspawn magister. He still couldn’t wrap his head around how the creature could be alive. He’d thought the Wardens imprisoned Corypheus to use him, but maybe they just did it because he couldn’t be killed. And despite his recent words of encouragement to Hawke, he could only conclude that meant he and Hawke really _were_ responsible for the entire mess. All those lives… He hung his head.

“Maker’s breath. What have I let loose?” he mumbled under his breath.

A soft voice pulled him out of his reverie. “That got a little… heated. Are you alright?”

“Well, that depends. How angry is Cassandra?” He pushed off the table, heaving a sigh. “I wasn’t trying to keep secrets. I told the Inquisition everything that seemed important... at the time.”

Snowflake’s smile was kind but a little bit sad. Damn, that pulled at his heartstrings even more.

“I know, Varric. You never would have kept quiet otherwise.” She gave a sniff. “And I told you months ago… I knew you were keeping something from Cassandra. I just wish it hadn’t been this important. You knew about Corypheus. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Because I didn’t know it _was_ Corypheus until he came to Haven. Until then, I didn’t see how the Champion could do any better than what we’ve already got going on here. But if anyone can help with this mess, it’s her.” He sighed again. “I keep hoping… none of this is real. Maybe it’s all some bullshit from the Fade, and it’ll just disappear... I know I need to do better. I’m sorry.”

She gave him a look of sympathy. “I know how you feel. I remember thinking that same thing for several weeks after we stabilized the Breach. ‘Surely this is all just a dream, and I’ll be waking up soon.’ But the Breach stayed where it was. And then there was the terrible future in Redcliffe.” She took a step toward him, her face contorting with the intensity of her emotions. “You were so brave then. You… you and Cassandra gave your lives to make sure Dorian and I could come back to the present. I knew then that I could trust you with my life. Even if you don’t remember it, I do. None of this is your fault, Varric.”

There she went reading his mind again. Maybe Hawke’s reprimand about Snowflake worming her way into another part of his heart wasn’t that far from the mark.

“Thanks, Snowflake. I appreciate the pep talk. But I’m sure you’ve got better things to do. Just let me know when you want something shot.”

“Of course, Varric.”

He watched her walk back down the steps to the upper courtyard and smiled in spite of himself. She held a quietness, a stillness about her, and her serious manners sometimes left him at a loss on how to respond. But something about her comforted Varric, which said a lot about her versatility as a leader considering he’d spent the last few months watching her freeze, immolate and otherwise wreak righteous havoc throughout three regions of Ferelden. After ten years by Hawke’s side, the warrior with the tragic past would always be his best friend, but this elven mage was turning out to be a great friend as well.

 _Not better. Just different._ He chuckled a little to himself and pushed off the desk. Surely some group somewhere needed help with their clean-up duties.

“No rest for the wicked,” he murmured wryly under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed my Marian Hawke! She's definitely sarcastic, but mostly, she's just kind of a big goof ball. I almost wish I'd made Alistair the Warden in this world state because she and Alistair would get along so well (and drive everyone else up the wall), but I have plans for King Alibear in the late (late, late) chapters of this fic.
> 
> Marian also does most definitely read Swords and Shields and any other smutty literature she can get her hands on. But she would never admit it aloud to Varric, which is why she projects that quality onto another badass warrior woman - Cassandra. (Little does she know how right she is!)
> 
> Hawke and Varric are my BrOTP. Their feelings for each other are deep and complicated (though fair warning to the Varric x Hawke shippers - Marian is with Fenris in the Revelation world state, and Varric "deals" with that by ignoring it.).


	21. In which the subconscious betrays the conscious mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen finds it more and more difficult to ignore his personal feelings for his new Inquisitor and reacts to the situation in both predictable and unpredictable ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the change in rating! Vaguely NSFW toward the end of the chapter... with a heavy dose of angst.

Cullen’s chest swelled with pride as he watched her take on the mantle of Inquisitor, and he marveled at the difference six months could make. Since his first encounter with her in the Haven Chantry, she’d become a beacon in the darkness - for the people frightened of things they could not control, for the kings and nobles who saw her power and tried to buy their way into her light… and for him, the broken man who only asked to bathe in the dim fringes of her glow in the hopes she might light his way to redemption.

He knew she would balk at that kind of imagery. But there on the landing, hair windswept and shining, sword glinting in the afternoon sunlight, posture defiant and strong, she stood as the living embodiment of hope. Towering stone walls echoed with the auditory expression of desperate longing evolving into tentative belief that maybe, just maybe, after all they’d suffered, they’d found one who could lead them to victory.

And he believed. Andraste preserve him, he _believed_.

After the pomp of the announcement dwindled, they met in the great hall for the first time and things finally began to feel like normal - or as normal as one could expect. However, he and… the _Inquisitor_ hadn’t spoken about anything but Inquisition business since arriving. Every time he thought he might seek her out, another soldier needed his attention, or a report came in, or he simply felt guilty for not focusing all his energy on the task at hand and talked himself out of it.

Concentrating while looking her in the eye had also become more difficult since his… realization in the Chantry. He would find himself distracted by the bright specks of violet in her blue eyes or the way her nose scrunched in distaste when she talked about Corypheus. Having the other advisors around made it easier - he could avoid her gaze more often and stay on task.

When they finished their first meeting with their new Inquisitor, he surreptitiously watched her head off for the battlements to meet with Varric’s “friend” and then dutifully returned to his post. The refugees coming in each day made the task of organizing and prioritizing work even more difficult. However, after several hours of assigning tasks, reviewing progress reports and wandering all over Skyhold to give final approval on completed work, Cullen felt he might be making some inroads. It was a good thing, too, because his head was caught in the vice-grip of a days-long headache. He drilled a finger into his temple as he read through the latest reports, looking for a modicum of relief from the unceasing pain.

“Everything alright, Commander?”

Cullen looked up and quickly swallowed back his undue irritation when he found Lieutenant Rozellene gazing at him, her green-gray eyes filled with cautious concern. Of all those under his command, she least deserved his surly responses. She’d been invaluable even before the attack on Haven, but during the battle… Maker, he’d rarely seen anyone wield a blade with such precision and focus. He supposed she hadn’t been a ranking officer in the King’s Patrol for nothing. They were lucky to have her.

“Rozellene. Yes, thank you. What do you need?”

“Just reporting in on the troops, ser. I’ve set up half-day training schedules to keep the soldiers sharp between their clean-up duties.” She handed him a stack of parchment. “And I’ve taken the liberty of redistributing soldiers into temporary units under our surviving corporals. We’ll likely want to promote a few more in the coming days. I accounted for skills, strengths and weaknesses when arranging the units, and you can see there-” She pointed to the neatly distinguished row of unit designations. “-the specialties. My goal was to provide you with a comprehensive way to complete tasks more quickly by sending units with experience in that particular task. Once the majority of the cleanup and restoration is done, you’ll likely wish to reorganize based on your preferences.”

Cullen raised a brow. He shouldn’t be surprised. She’d been this way from the beginning - taking the initiative to the point of being prescient at times - and it couldn’t have come at a better time.

“On the contrary,” he responded in a mildly teasing tone, “perhaps I’ll simply have you do that as well. You seem to be reading my mind.”

A light dusting of pink bloomed on the Lieutenant's face as she struggled to keep the smile from her face and maintain a professional demeanor even as her eyes flashed with suppressed mirth. If Rylen were here instead of out securing supply lines, he’d likely make some crack about her being a Witch of the Wild in disguise, they’d laugh, and Rozellene would punch Rylen in the arm and make a quip about daft templars not knowing a mage from a non mage.

_Thank the Maker, things really are getting back to normal._

“You know I’m simply happy to be of service, ser,” Rozellene finally replied after appropriately containing her glee.

Cullen shot her a grateful smile. “I do. And I appreciate it.” He then cleared his throat and took on a more professional face as well. “Anything else to report?”

“Not at the moment, ser. I’m headed back down to the valley to check in on the afternoon exercises.”

He nodded. “Very good.”

Rozellene lingered a moment longer before saluting and heading toward the gates, and Cullen turned back to his reports. A few minutes later, two messengers approached his makeshift table at once with mildly conflicting reports of suspicious behavior at a lake in Ferelden near the town of Crestwood - possible darkspawn or undead. The lake had been flooded ten years earlier, during the Blight, and now it seemed to be spewing demons and undead.

“Both of you, work together to scout the area, we need to know what’s out there.”

The scouts bowed with a forceful “Yesser,” and hurried off to carry out his orders. As soon as they left, another messenger approached him.

“Commander, all soldiers have been assigned temporary quarters.”

“Very good. I’ll need an update on the armory as well.”

Cullen turned away and then looked back a moment later to find the messenger still standing there, scratching at his chest. Why was he still here? The vice-grip tightened a bit more.

“Now!” he barked.

Cullen shook his head as the messenger scrambled away. With so much to be done, he would never understand such a lack of urgency. The sooner they got this fortress repaired, the better their defense against other attacks would be. Unlike Haven, _this_ was a place he could defend.

Turning to another messenger waiting for his instructions, he caught a glimpse of Lady Lavellan in his peripheral vision, and his heart began to pound. She was walking his direction, but perhaps she would alter her course at the last minute and - no, he turned and found her looking straight at him as she approached, a small smile on her lips. Her eyes pierced through him - as though she could see every part of him.

He had to think of something to say, something to distract from that penetrating gaze. She probably wanted an update on progress. He put on his most formal demeanor and started talking before she could even greet him.

“We set up as best we could at Haven, but could never prepare for an archdemon … or whatever it was. With some warning we might have-”

“Do you ever sleep?”

Her interruption startled him, and he fell silent for a moment. He wanted to say yes, but it would be a lie. He’d not slept more than a couple hours at a time since their arrival at Skyhold. Her eyes brimmed with concern. Blood rushed through his ears, and his heart hammered in his chest. He couldn’t look her in the eye if he were going to get through this, so ignoring her question, he turned to lean on his table and stare at the stack of reports strewn across it.

“If Corypheus strikes again we may not be able to withdraw... and I wouldn’t want to. We must be ready. Work on Skyhold is underway, guard rotation established, training schedules half-way back to normal - we should have everything on course within the week.” He turned his head briefly to glance at her. “We will not run from here, Inquisitor.”

She made a humming noise, and after a pause, asked in a quiet tone, “How many were lost?”

Cullen breathed in deeply. “Most of our people made it to Skyhold. And thanks to the mages, many of the injured survived and are now recovering. It still hurts to lose so many good people, but it could have been much worse. Morale was low, but it’s improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor.”

He glanced at her again to see her uneasily wrap her arms around her stomach. Her voice turned soft and shy.

“Inquisitor Lavellan. I wasn’t looking for another title. It sounds a bit… odd, don’t you think?”

Still leaning over the table, Cullen glanced at her and shook his head, trying to be encouraging. “Not at all.”

She gave him a wry grin. “Is that the official response?”

She had him there. He laughed and finally straightened to face her.

“I suppose it is. But it _is_ the truth. We needed a leader. You have more than proven yourself.”

“Ma serannas, falon.”

Her eyes locked on him again, and his body froze in place. The rest of the courtyard faded a little as she smiled and then dropped her hands to her sides. He furrowed his brows slightly as her demeanor finally hit him. _Did she - did she look nervous?_ Her gaze fell to somewhere around his neck, and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. _Yes, definitely nervous._ Finally, she spoke.

“Our escape from Haven... It was… close. I’m relieved that you…” She closed her eyes briefly before they nervously flicked up to meet his. “...That so many made it out.”

Cullen’s entire body hummed at her slip. Was she saying...? What _was_ she saying? Mindful of the messenger still behind them, he dropped his voice.

“As am I.”

He forgot where he was for a moment, drinking her in as she stood before him. _So beautiful._ A sudden shroud of inadequacy fell over him. The impossibility of it all… She was their leader now - _his_ leader. It would be a conflict of interest for them to be anything more than they already were.

 _It’s too late for that. You’re in love with her. Your interactions now could never be anything_ but _a conflict of interest._

He glanced away to hide the self-loathing he knew would be reflected in his eyes. She took a small, tremulous breath, and he looked back to see her turning to walk away.

_Let her go._

But in a split-second, his mind replayed all the agonizing hours he’d spent thinking she might be dead. He shuddered, and then remembered the terror that shot through his heart when she’d collapsed in his arms in the snow…

His voice trembled with emotion as he stepped after her, and he nearly grabbed her hand before stopping just short.

“You stayed behind. You could have...”

At his words, she stopped and slowly turned to face him. The tentative look on her face nearly broke him. He took another step toward her, closing the gap between them. If he couldn’t allow himself to have her, he would at least protect her at all costs. She had to know that he would not fail them - he would not fail _her_ \- again.

“I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.”

She smiled up at him and nodded. In that one moment, the sun shone brilliantly in every dark corner of his soul, filling him with her warmth, her kindness, her concern. Then she turned to walk back toward the stables, and the darkness encroached on him again, the emptiness more suffocating than before. He fought back a powerful urge to grab her and wrap her in his arms, to hold her until this fear and pain of almost losing her faded, to kiss her until only the blessed feel of her body under his remained.

His cheeks burned at the inappropriate thought. Pushing the images out of his mind, he swallowed hard and turned back to his table instead.

For the sake of the Inquisition, he must learn to deal with this.

 

**

 

The following day, the Inquisitor called together the council in what they had dubbed the new war room - the secluded, lower level of the tallest tower. It contained a giant table that seemed meant for such a purpose, and they’d already covered the expansive surface with maps and other papers. Tokens used to mark locations were strewn across the renderings of Orlais and Ferelden.

 _Just like Haven_.

As he listened to the Inquisitor explain what she’d learned about Corypheus, the Grey Wardens and her next mission, he kept his eyes on the table and focused on her words.

“I’d like to leave as soon as possible to find Warden Stroud,” she concluded. “What is our status?”

Leliana looked at Cullen. He nodded.

“Scouts have already been dispatched to Crestwood to look into reports of undead rising from the lake there. They left yesterday, so we should receive our first report by tonight or tomorrow morning, correct Leliana?”

“Yes, I’ve got the rookery set up - at least as well as it can be for now. It will still need some work, but the crows are ready to serve. Speaking of which…”

Leliana paused, looking unsure, and Cullen felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The normally cool and collected spymaster seemed flustered as she reached down to pick up a letter and handed it to the Inquisitor.

“It came in a few moments ago from one of our agents still stationed in the Free Marches.”

The Inquisitor’s face as she read the letter told him everything he needed to know. She handed the note to him. He skimmed the letter before handing it to Josephine, but Leliana was already offering her solution.

“These don’t sound like regular bandits attacking your clan. The numbers alone are suspicious. My agents can cause a disturbance and allow your clan to retreat to safety.”

Cullen agreed. “Leliana is right, these are not simple bandits. Now that we’ve established trust with your clan, I could send in troops to protect them. Other ideas, Josephine?”

The ambassador shook her head, a confused look spreading across her face as she read. “I don’t understand why the Duke of Wycome would allow bandits to roam unchecked so close to his city. I could send a message asking him for help, but everything about this is just… odd.”

The Inquisitor had been listening intently as each of them spoke. After a tense moment, she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, but I do not trust any noble with the safety of my clan. It sounds like you don’t either, Josephine.” She glanced at him before looking down at the map of the Free Marches. “I’m tempted to use soldiers, but… in this case, I think we need the expertise and speed of your agents, Leliana.”

“I will dispatch them immediately, your worship. They will ensure your clan is safe.”

“Ma serannas.”

The sorrowful look in her eyes only grew as she reread the letter Josephine had passed back to her. Part of him wished she’d let his soldiers protect her clan, but he agreed they needed to figure out why the Duke had allowed the bandits so close to Wycome.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen inserted after allowing her a moment to reread the letter, “I also wanted you to know that I and the other advisors are looking into Samson and his source of red lyrium. Considering the size of his red templar army, the problem appears to be much more pervasive than we’d originally thought. I hope to have more information about it soon. If we can find their supplies lines, it would go a long way in crippling the red templars.”

“That sounds like a solid plan, Cullen. I’ll look forward to your findings.”

The Inquisitor assigned them a few more tasks, and as he watched her focus on the table, the full extent of her exhaustion became clear. He looked over at Josephine, gestured toward the Inquisitor and made a motion for sleep. Josephine raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

“Inquisitor, have you any changes you’d like to make to your quarters?” The elf looked up, somewhat confused, so Josephine continued. “New curtains, rugs, perhaps changes to your bed - something softer or more firm? You are our leader now, and your quarters should reflect that.”

A sheepish look flashed across her pale face. “I… well… I haven’t really had a chance to... sleep there, yet.”

The advisors all looked at each other in surprise while the Inquisitor looked steadily at the table, her cheeks tinged with pink.

“I’ve been meaning to, you know, but there’s just so much to be done. And - and it feels wrong sleeping in such opulence when so many are sleeping on blankets on the ground.”

Cullen shook his head. “We’ve got temporary quarters set up for most people now, and more furnishings and supplies are coming in everyday. There’s no need to be concerned about people sleeping on the ground.”

Josephine had quickly regained her composure after the initial shock, but her tone reflected her continued puzzlement. “If you don’t mind me asking… if you haven’t been sleeping in your quarters, where _have_ you been sleeping?”

Josephine and Leliana gave each other sidelong glances and then both of them looked over to him. He could only stare back at them in confusion… followed by astonishment, hand reaching to rub the back of his neck as heat suffused his face.

 _Were they implying…? Maker’s breath! Why would they even consider such a thing?_ He groaned internally. Was he _that_ obvious?

Thank the Maker, her quiet voice turned their gaze away from him. “At first, I slept in the great hall. But more recently, I’ve been sleeping in the garden.”

Josephine lost her composure again. “You’ve been sleeping outside? Inquisitor, we have new people coming in everyday. Although we’re doing our best to ensure that people are properly vetted, it is simply not safe for you to be sleeping outside, unprotected!”

As the conversation continued, the Inquisitor’s cheeks went from pink to bright red, and he regretted even bringing up the subject. This wasn’t what he’d envisioned at all. He’d just hoped Josephine would encourage her to get more sleep.

“Inquisitor,” he interjected, “I think we’re all just concerned about how much sleep you might be getting. It was only recently that you were… injured. Even with the help of the mage healers, your body needs time to recuperate from a trauma like that. We need you at your best before you head back into the field.”

Cullen tried to keep his voice calm and gentle as he spoke. Thinking back to how close she came to death still gave him pain, but she needed sleep, not him breaking down at the memory of that day. She nodded but still didn’t look up at any of them.

“I’ll be sure to do a thorough review of my quarters tonight. Anything further?”

A murmured chorus of “no, Your Worship” rose from around the table. Finally she looked up and gave them all a small, sheepish smile.

“Very well, back to work then. Cullen, could I have a word with you before you return to your duties?”

Cullen saw Josephine and Leliana give each other a significant look as they passed behind the Inquisitor. He carefully kept his face neutral, though the bit of warmth in his cheeks told him he hadn’t been as successful as he’d hoped. As the other two advisors left the room, Leliana made a point to waggle her eyebrows at him as she firmly closed the door behind her, leaving them alone in the room.

He sighed slightly as he looked after them. He was going to have to talk with those two about this. There was nothing-

A cool hand gently cupping his face interrupted his thoughts. All else slipped away as he met her gaze, savoring the feel of her lightly calloused palm and soft fingertips against his stubbled cheek. It took every ounce of his dwindling willpower not to close his eyes and lean into her hand.

“You are concerned about me? What about you? I’ve noticed your haggard look. If I’m to get more sleep, you must as well, ma falon.”

“Is that an order from my Inquisitor?” he murmured, surprising himself with his collected tone in the midst of the riot of feeling brought on by her touch.

It was meant to be a joke, but she looked at him seriously. “If it needs to be.”

Her eyes held his, and he balled his hands into fists to keep from circling his arms around her waist and drawing her against him. Every part of his body felt flushed and tense. His breathing became shallow, and he struggled to not let it show. They stood that way for a few moments as she intently searched his face. His cheeks burned under her scrutiny, but he didn’t look away.

“You’re still having the headaches?” she finally asked.

He nodded, and she sighed, finally dropping her hand and turning away to face the war table. His face instantly felt cold, bereft of her touch. She gave him a weary, sidelong glance.

“I did send word to my Keeper, but I’m afraid that with the… problems my clan now faces, she won’t be able to provide you with the headache remedy I was hoping for.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his hip on the table as he faced her profile. He must work on this. He needed to be able to act nonchalant around her, to look her in the face and not lose himself in her eyes, to simply be the Commander she needed him to be.

“You needn’t worry about that, my lady. I shall endure.”

She snorted a little and turned her gaze back to him, a wry smile gracing her lips. “I need you at your best, Cullen. We all do. Even if I can’t provide you with the medication, I must at least insist that you take care of your health. I have more tea if you need it, and I’ll be sure to gather supplies for more when I go to Crestwood. I was also thinking of attempting a draught, a concentrated version of the tea. I won’t have time before I leave, but after I return… Do you think that would be helpful?”

Cullen thought back to the worsening headaches and occasional bouts of nausea if he let the headaches get too bad. He’d yet to experience anything like that night in Haven again, but the symptoms _were_ worsening. Without the nightly calming tea, his hands had begun to shake when he pushed himself too hard. Clearing his throat, he looked to the side and out the window of the newly appointed war room.

“I think that might be good, yes. And, if you could add something for... nausea, that would also be helpful.”

She sucked in a breath, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. Finally, her tentative, questioning voice broke the tension.

“Cullen, please... Will you tell me what’s going on?”

He’d thought before that she would be leaving after closing the Breach. Now, he couldn’t see an end in sight. Now, she was his Inquisitor. Despite how it killed him to reveal such a weakness, she had a right to know. He pushed up from the table and walked to the row of windows at the back of the room.

“As leader of the Inquisition, you… I must tell you...”

He paused, weighing his words. She must have sensed his hesitancy.

“Whatever it is, I’m willing to listen.”

He looked over with a tight-lipped smile. “Right. Thank you… I’ve told you before about lyrium and how it grants templars their power and abilities. It is also a method of control. It is the Chantry’s leash for templars. Those cut off suffer. Some go mad. Others die. We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the defected templars here, but I… no longer take it.”

“You stopped?”

“Yes, when I joined the Inquisition. It’s been months now.”

“Cullen…” She paused to release a pent-up breath. “If this could kill you-”

“It hasn’t yet. After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t…” He turned away from the window and began pacing. “I will not be bound to the Order - or that life - any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it. But I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I have asked Cassandra to… watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, she will relieve me of my duty.”

“Exactly how much pain are you in?” she asked softly, tentatively, as if afraid of the answer.

He stopped pacing and faced her across the war table. “I have the regular headaches and body aches… and occasional nausea. I can endure it. With your help, it has been much easier.”

She nodded, a note of relief in her expression. “Thank you for telling me. I- I respect what you’re doing. I know you will succeed.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor.” He felt so weak, and there she was, telling him she respected him for it. He didn’t deserve it… and she deserved so much better. “The Inquisition’s army must always take priority. Should anything happen… I will defer to Cassandra’s judgment.”

In the ensuing silence, bit by bit, the heavy weight of his failures, his weaknesses, his unworthiness slid from his shoulders. He’d thought revealing his personal struggle to her would be shaming, but instead, her quiet faith in him bolstered his faith in himself. A small ray of hope touched his mind. Maybe someday, when all this was over…

But he wasn’t the only one with problems. He cleared his throat and approached her once more, taking up his prior position leaning casually against the war table.

“How are _you_ doing? I mean, with the news of your clan in danger…”

She gave him a strained smile that came nowhere near her eyes. “I’m alright. I… believe Leliana’s agents will be able to avert any real disaster. I just hope we don’t lose anyone. I’ve already put them in enough danger.”

“Whatever happens, this isn’t your fault, my lady. You cannot anticipate every eventuality. But I’m sure you’re right. Leliana’s agents are the best in Thedas. If anyone can protect your clan, it’s them. And your clan will know you sent the agents to help them.”

“You’re right, of course. It’s just… I know many of them blamed me for what happened five years ago. If any more die…”

“Surely your Keeper will explain things… help your clan understand?”

The Inquisitor took a deep breath and smiled a little wider. “Yes. She will. Ma serannas for your encouragement… And for being such a great friend to me. I… you are… I’ve never…”

She laughed nervously as she struggled with her words. Her gaze faltered, and her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment. He found it enchanting. Finally, she looked back up at him, her hand raising up to rest on her heated cheek.

“Just, thank you.”

Cullen worked to control his racing heart as he gazed at her. “It is my pleasure, my lady.” After another slight pause, he reluctantly pushed away from table. “I fear I must return to my duties now. I will be at my post in the lower courtyard if you should need anything further.”

She turned with him. “I’ll walk with you, ma falon. I know it’s not far, but it seems forever since we walked together anywhere - not since our journey to Skyhold.”

He bowed slightly and motioned for her to go ahead, then fell in step beside her as he reminded himself that her endearment was only a word for friend. Just now, however, she’d called him a “great friend.” He’d had pitiful few friends in his life, especially after Kinloch. Making friends only brought heartache when they died or betrayed you. But he knew without a doubt that, other than his siblings, he’d never before had such a close friend as her, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything. It went beyond their status as mage and ex-templar, and even beyond his love for her. Despite their differences, they’d been friends long before he’d realized how deep his feelings ran, and he would endeavor to be satisfied with the great gift of support, respect and friendship she’d bestowed on him in these last few months. Having someone he could truly talk with about almost anything… it was a new and strange feeling, but one he could certainly get used to.

They walked out of the war room and down the hall to where Josephine had set up her office. The ambassador sat at her desk as they walked by, and as she bid them farewell, Josephine tried to give him a significant look. With the Inquisitor there, however, she couldn’t quite manage it before he turned away.

The afternoon sun beaming through stained glass windows cast a golden, ethereal haze around them as they entered the great hall. Her face and hair glowed in the honeyed light, lips shining as her tongue darted out to lick at them. As they walked slowly down the hall, she gave him a sidelong glance, and he suddenly realized he’d been staring at her… again. _Maker’s breath._

“Have you been to the gardens, yet?” she asked quietly.

It took Cullen a heartbeat to process her question as he fought back yet another blush. “Um… no, not yet, my lady. I’ve been overrun all week, so I have yet to visit all of Skyhold’s nooks and crannies.”

“It’s quite lovely. It has fruit trees and bushes that will provide food in the spring, summer and fall and several wild varieties of herbs already grow there. I’d like to see what can be done to make it even more useful.” She sighed and smiled up at him. “I suppose that will have to wait, though. Too many other, more important, things to do.”

Cullen absently hummed his agreement, his mind working furiously behind his calm demeanor. They’d made great progress on the keep in the past few weeks. He might be able to spare a few laborers - perhaps one of Rozellene’s units had cultivation experience? - to at least get the garden cleaned out and ready for whatever work she might want to do. Once pared back and cleaned up, he would need to find people skilled in plant identification and gardening. Perhaps they had some herbalists among the healers and mages who might wish to assist in the project?

“I will try to get there soon for a visit,” he finally commented, trying to keep a cap on his excitement. “It sounds peaceful.”

They exited the hall and began walking down the stairs to the upper courtyard. After a moment she spoke again.

“If news comes in from Crestwood tonight, I’ll likely leave to meet Hawke on the day after tomorrow. The Grey Warden disappearance has me incredibly nervous. We need to move on that quickly.”

“I agree, my lady. If Corypheus does have a hold on them, it could be an explanation for the demon army from your dark future.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

“Please, be careful with Stroud,” he cautioned. “Hawke says he is a friend, and she is trustworthy, but he could have been turned without her knowledge... Who will you take with you to Crestwood?”

“Varric, of course,” she answered firmly. “As for the rest of the party, I was thinking Iron Bull and Blackwall would round things out. I feel like Varric and Cassandra need a break from one another after their recent… incident.”

Cullen laughed out loud, drawing the eyes of several bystanders. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice as they turned from the upper courtyard to head down the stairs to his post. He walked as slowly as possible.

“Yes, well, I think they are both a little bit to blame for that. Varric shouldn’t have kept that information from us… but Cassandra could have been more diplomatic about asking for it.”

She raised her eyebrow. “It’s a good thing we have Josephine, then. And, yes, I will be careful Cul- Commander, but only because you asked nicely.”

She caught herself as a messenger passed them on the stairs. He chuckled at her teasing tone and responded with a bit of wit himself.

“Well, had I known it were that easy, I would have asked sooner.”

As he’d hoped, she laughed. “Oh, you should know by now that you can ask me for anything.”

His breath caught in his throat. After a split second, her smile faltered, eyes widening suddenly and then fluttering downward as if she’d just realized the possible meaning of her words… But she didn’t take them back. They reached his post, and it was suddenly a little harder to breath.

“Good to know,” he responded in a low voice.

Although they stood in the middle of the courtyard, his mouth spoke as if they were alone - forward, sensually intoned words that he’d never have believed himself capable of if they hadn’t just popped out of his mouth. For a moment, his heart stopped, fearful he’d gone too far.

But she merely glanced up at him through her dark lashes, bottom lip caught between her teeth, before nodding and giving him the customary bow and salute. He returned her bow and watched her back away from him a few steps, her gaze tentative but soft, before turning to walk away.

He began to fear that just plain staying away from her was the only way he would ever be able to keep his head on straight.

 

**

 

_Cullen walked barefoot down a sun-dappled path, free from his armor and only a light tunic and linen breeches between him and the soft breeze. He felt lighter, freer than he’d ever been before, and soft, lilting tune found a voice in his pursed lips. The path wound around lazily, and he closed his eyes, breathing in the soft, earthy scent that smelled a lot like… her. He left off the song, but it continued faintly in the distance, a pleasant, feminine voice singing familiar and yet wholly foreign words to a tune he knew but couldn’t place. As he drew nearer, shivers slid down his spine as he recognized the voice. Her voice. A deep longing seeped from every part of his body and began to pool in his gut as he thought of pale skin, slender but generous curves, soulful eyes..._

_As he turned the corner, he came into a clearing and saw her, as if he had conjured her into existence with his thoughts. She wore the elven robes he’d see her wear once in Haven, the clothing clinging to her body in all the right ways. The song rose up more clearly now, and he finally recognized it as the song she’d sung to him after recruiting the mages in Redcliffe. The song about endurance._

_About finding your way home._

_He walked toward her purposefully, his strides long and sure, and as he approached, he could see her body tremble with deep, uneven breaths. The song faded out. She said nothing, but her eyes flashed and her arms rose from her sides, inviting him into her embrace. Without another thought, he walked to her, taking her outstretched hands and raising them to wrap around his neck while his mouth finally, reverently, hungrily claimed hers in a deep and desperate kiss._

_She tasted exactly as he thought she might, her lips plush and hot under his, and she reacted immediately, moving in time with his mouth as if she too had been waiting, yearning for this moment. His heart hammered almost painfully against his chest as she gripped at his shoulders and neck, trying to pull him even closer._

_Her skin pebbled under his fingertips as he ran his hands slowly down her arms and past the curve of her breasts. His arms wrapped firmly around her waist, hands splayed against her back as he pulled her hard against him. He teased at her bottom lip with his teeth, reveling in her full lips and sipping the honey of her mouth even as he tried to memorize the feel of her curves pressed against him, chest to thighs._

_She felt like a cool breeze on a summer’s day, like a familiar chant in the midst of darkness, like a safe haven in a storm._

_She felt like home._

_He teased her lips open and groaned against her mouth as her tongue slid over his bottom lip. A white hot bolt of desire shot through him, and he pressed her firm, muscled body into his arousal, breaths coming in ragged gasps between passionate kisses that allowed him to explore the sweetness of her mouth to the fullest extent possible. It was all too much. And yet not nearly enough._

_His hands began to move - one sliding down her back to cup the round firmness of her backside as the other slid up her side, so slowly, to gently cup her breast. The supple flesh fit perfectly into his palm. Maker, she was perfect. So incredibly…_

_She whimpered into his mouth as his thumb brushed over the taut peak through the thin fabric of her robe, and her own trembling hands tangled in his hair and desperately pressed his lips into hers. He felt himself losing control and broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers as they both struggled for breath. She sensuously rolled her hips into him and moved her head to kiss his neck, her teeth nipping at his skin along the way. Desire throbbed with every brush of her lips against his skin, every tug of her slender fingers in his hair, and finally pulled a ragged whisper of her name from his lips._

_“Evana… my love…”_

_She stilled, her lips still pressed to his neck, and terror cut through him. Had he said too much? He loosened his hold in case she wished to leave his embrace, but she did not attempt to push him away. He swallowed audibly, desire crashing abruptly into a paralyzing fear of losing her to his fumbling, inept wooing._

_“E- Evana?”_

_She dropped her arms from him and backed away, eyes glazed and vacant. She turned to his right, and he saw it then - out of the corner of his eye, emerging from the shadows - a desire demon, calling to her with a song he could not hear. Terror of a different kind clutched at his chest, robbing him of breath. He grabbed for her, but his feet stuck in place. Everything seemed to speed up around him as she slipped through his fingers and out of his reach. The demon approached her, reached into her, began to merge with her… and he could only watch helplessly as a desire demon destroyed every fragile dream of happiness and home._

_Again._

_Tears streamed down his face as he screamed to her in vain, his voice raw with agony a decade in the making._

_“Evana, don’t!! Andraste! Maker! Please! No!”_

 

**

 

“No!”

Cullen shot upright in his bed with a gasp of denial, his eyes blurry with unshed tears. He scrambled violently away from the covers that tangled around his legs and gripped at the headboard as he took in his surroundings. It took another moment of wild panting before he finally got his bearings.

This had been his first night in the tower loft that would also be his new office. He was in a large bed, specially made for him by the Inquisition laborers. He’d been following his Inquisitor’s orders to get more sleep but had foolishly gone to bed without her tea to calm him. His punishment was watching Evana become an abomination in his dreams.

He dropped his already aching head in his hands and wiped the tears from his eyes as he waited for his heart to slow down. _She is too strong-willed for that_ , he admonished himself. She would never make a deal with a demon. Other mages might… but not her. Never her. Nothing but a useless, unfounded fear - just another way for his lyrium-withdrawn mind to torture him.

As he scrambled to recall the feel of her fingers tangled in his hair, of her lips under his, his heart ached even more. Yes, just a dream. Shameful as it was to have such an inappropriate dream about his Inquisitor, he was honestly surprised he hadn’t dreamt about it before. After all, he’d been suppressing those exact thoughts and feelings for months now, even occasionally taking himself in hand to rid himself of the more primal urges. The realization that he truly loved her only made everything that much worse.

Dawn’s light stretched upward from the horizon as he pulled himself from the bed. Despite the cold air pouring in from the hole in his roof, the nightmare had left him drenched in sweat, so he pulled off his clothes and used the water pitcher, a small bit of soap and a cloth to wash himself and his hair as best he could.

Pulling on a clean set of breeches and tunic, Cullen caught sight of the new arming doublet Harritt had presented to him yesterday evening. He’d requested the doublet while still in Haven but had forgotten about it in the meantime. It now hung over the chair in the corner of his loft, the soft light just beginning to reveal the intricate features. The cloth and leather masterwork featured a light mail expertly woven into the shoulders, arms, and across the chest, specific catches and rests for his cuirass, and a completely open front with adjustable buckle closures set on a diagonal across his chest that allowed him to slip into the doublet easily and then tighten or loosen the fit as he chose. All-in-all, a good reminder that they were working with a master crafter.

He’d also noted the elven-looking embossing across the leather on the back, shoulders and sleeves. When he’d asked about it, Harritt winked at him and said the Inquisitor often spent time in the Undercroft - Harritt’s name for his new location in Skyhold.

Did she put her elven markings on most things made in Undercroft now… or did she only do it for his things? The new voice of hope inside him whispered that it was just for him.

Then he cursed out loud and called himself a fool.

This thing - this thing he wanted so _desperately_ \- it wasn’t possible. He couldn’t allow such a distraction from their work. The future of Thedas could depend on it. _And she’d never want me anyway. Not if she knew who I’ve been… the things I’ve done to mages like her._

He took one last deep breath and descended to his office. As he pulled on the rest of his armor, he wondered how much work he could get done before they needed him at the makeshift training yard in the valley for morning exercises. Catching sight of a batch of new paperwork sitting on the newly repaired desk at the back of the room, he sighed in relief.

At this point, he’d welcome any distraction from the images from his dream - both the shamefully pleasant and absolutely terrifying parts of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I might be a little overly cautious with the rating change, but I'd rather over promise than have anyone feel like they weren't properly prepared.
> 
> If you're interested, I've begun another fic! It will be written concurrently with this one as a "side" story in the TROAT world state, and tells the story of Knight-Captain Rylen and my non-quizzy OC, Trice Millier. If you're interested, you can click over to Part 2 of the Revelations Series to read. I'll be posting where the chapters occur within TROAT in the end notes as well. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Chapter 1 of Part 2 of the Revelations series - [Truths Half Told Beget Lives Half Lived](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9047525/chapters/20586266) \- is timed with the end of this chapter.


	22. In which attraction creates a mess of feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her companions are all against her... at least when it comes to teasing her about a certain ex-templar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here begins a several-chapter arc of mostly fluff. Fluff and slight angst, because we can't have Cullen without angst. It just wouldn't be right.

_Sketch of Evana Lavellan by the lovely[MissSleepyPanda](http://misssleepypanda.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!_

 

Evana woke to a brilliant glow warming the stone floor. Bright rays streamed in from the giant balcony windows and cast a cheery ambience around the cavernous room at the top of the tallest tower in Skyhold. Although she still felt awkward taking up so much space on her own, she had to admit that the windows were a nice upgrade. She didn’t feel as stifled in the open air as she had in her tiny quarters in Haven. Only the bitter cold that seeped into the room at night gave her any cause to complain, but the roaring fire, thick curtains and a mountain of blankets alleviated any real discomfort that might have come from the drafts.

Stretching out underneath the luxurious sheets, she made a mental note to thank Josephine for the bed - and the mountain of blankets. In fact, everything seemed lovely. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept in so late. It must be an hour or more after sunrise.

After three weeks at Skyhold, things seemed to be getting back to normal. The distant clink of hammers indicated crews had begun repairs to the roofs in the major buildings, and many of the interior rooms were clean and ready for renovations. All in all, it was time to get back to the business of ending Corypheus.

The report they’d anticipated from Crestwood came in late last night. Scouts confirmed that the lake glowed a sickly green - a sure sign of a rift hiding somewhere beneath the waters and potentially causing the undead to rise up from the lake. Considering Crestwood also harbored their elusive Grey Warden contact, she’d decided to start for Crestwood tomorrow.

As she lingered in the warm cocoon of her blankets and brand new mattress, her thoughts turned to Cullen for a brief moment, and she wondered how he’d slept. She didn’t think she’d have time to ask today - Cassandra was likely already pacing the training yards in anticipation of Evana’s arrival. They’d agreed to continue their sparring lessons because Evana still felt insecure when fighting at close range. Then she needed to read through the Crestwood reports again, meet with a nosy noble who had arrived unexpectedly, check in on the mages and talk with Fiona about where they could most use the mages’ support, meet for a lesson with Josephine, finish up any last minute logistical items before being gone for an extended period and, because she’d be taking Varric with her, talk with Dorian about making sure Cullen didn’t work too hard while she was gone. The man would work himself into an early grave, otherwise.

Despite his assurances, her concern had only grown after learning that he’d quit lyrium. The disquiet hung as a dark cloud over her head, insinuating itself into every thought of him. She admitted, if only to herself, that asking Dorian to look after him was as much for her peace of mind as it was for his health.

She… she couldn’t afford to lose such a valuable… friend.

She pulled herself out of bed. _Best to get on with the day._ She splashed some water on her face, put on a sleeveless tunic and trousers from the previous day, and combed her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame the wild mess. It had grown out since the Conclave, the formerly short locks now haphazardly falling into her eyes and tickling the back of her neck. She supposed she would need to do something about that as well if she ever got an extra moment.

Cassandra was indeed at the training area in the upper courtyard, along with what seemed like every other Inquisition agent and officer. They’d formed a large circle with an open area in the middle, and as she paused on the stairs from the main hall, she caught a lovely glimpse of what they’d all gathered to see: Cullen, dressed only in his breeches and boots, lowered into a ready stance and slowly circling the open area opposite the Iron Bull.

“Come on, Commander! Are you afraid?” Bull taunted.

Cullen laughed but kept his eyes glued to the Qunari. “Not afraid Bull, just cautious. Remember, though - no holding back.”

“I _never_ hold back, and caution is for children. I thought you were a _man_!”

 _What hath the male competitive spirit wrought?_ She laughed a little tremulously at the thought, and then her heart froze in her chest as Cullen lunged.

The Iron Bull tried to dodge, but Cullen proved too quick for him. The Commander gracefully twisted out of Bull’s reach as he pulled Bull’s arm back into a tight hold while at the same time sweeping the Qunari’s feet out from under him. In a split second, the Iron Bull went down with a mighty thud, and the soldiers roared. So did Evana.

Once he had Bull down, Cullen immediately released him and held out his hand to help the Qunari behemoth up. Muscles rippling, he hauled Bull up for another go ‘round, and she heard several vocal sighs of appreciation from the crowd. She gritted her teeth against the pang of irrational jealousy and focused instead on the people running down to stand with her on the stairs and many more popping their heads out from windows around the keep. The two grapplers moved to opposite sides of the circle again and took their stances, moving slowly around each other.

“Alright, alright! You caught me by surprise, templar. It won’t happen again.”

“ _Ex_ -templar, and yes, it will. Are you sure you don’t want to make this best three of five? Because I’m going to end this in a moment.”

“Ahhhhh!!!”

The Iron Bull charged at Cullen full speed, and Evana’s fingers curled into fists of anxiety. Adrenaline pulsed through her veins, but before she could begin to pull on her mana, Cullen dodged Bull’s charge. He rolled out of the way and ended on his feet again, turning around just as Bull managed to slow his momentum and turn. They’d traded places in the ring, but otherwise, nothing seemed to have changed. They began circling each other once more.

“Lucky slip,” Bull grumbled.

“ _Luck_ has nothing to do with it,” Cullen challenged.

“Ohh-ho-ho… you’re asking for it, _Commander_!”

And with that, the Iron Bull charged again. Evana threw her hands up to cover her face but then peered through her slitted fingers. This time, instead of dodging, Cullen ducked under Bull’s left side - into his blind spot - and got a grip on the Qunari’s horns. With a furious and expertly executed twist, he used Bull’s momentum against him and quickly put him to the ground once more.

The soldiers went absolutely wild. She closed her eyes in a prayer of thanks to whatever deity might be listening, and when she opened them again, the soldiers had hoisted Cullen on their shoulders to parade him around the courtyard. A half pleased, half embarrassed grin covered his beautiful face, and she watched in amusement as he attempted to convince the soldiers to put him down. They paid him no attention, however, so he just looked up and awkwardly waved to the crowd. They clapped and shouted even more while she took the opportunity to admire pale, sweat-slicked skin over taut muscle glistening in the sunlight. A blush crept up her neck at the illicit and inappropriate images that invaded her thoughts.

 _Friends, eh?_ her rebellious inner voice challenged her.

Finally, as they brought him around, he looked her direction, and she saw the exact moment he recognized her. Their eyes met, and his chest and neck flushed bright red. A moment later, he called out to the soldiers around him, his commanding voice miraculously carrying above the din.

“Alright now, that’s enough sport for today. If you all want to be able to do that sort of thing, you will have to practice at it. _Now_.”

After a collective groan from the soldiers, they let him down, though most still gathered around to slap him on the back and congratulate him. She saw him glance her way while putting his tunic back on - _shame that_ \- then she lost him in the crowd. Her eyes found The Iron Bull next as he leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the courtyard, and she finally caught sight of the Commander again as he walked up to shake the Qunari’s hand. Bull shook it heartily, his deep bass voice carrying over the murmur of the dispersing crowd as he assured Cullen of no hard feelings. Smiling to herself, she scanned the crowd, located Cassandra and descended from her perch on the stairs to finally meet with the Seeker.

“Well, that was exciting!” Evana called as she approached.

Cassandra turned to greet Evana, a huge grin on the warrior’s face, her gray eyes sparkling with excitement. “Inquisitor! I knew our Commander was skilled, but I cannot believe he took down the Iron Bull twice! Did you see it?”

Amused by the Seeker’s buoyant mood, Evana laughed and nodded. “The crowd had already gathered by the time I got here, so I’m not sure what brought on the display, but I did get to see both take-downs. I have to say, it scared me to death. You’ve seen Bull charge like that on the battlefield - usually there isn’t much left of the person on the receiving end.”

“I’m happy to confirm that I retain all my faculties, my lady,” Cullen’s smooth voice assured. “No reason to be alarmed.”

Evana swiveled around to see him grinning down at her. She instantly noted the extra swagger in his step as he moved around her to allow Iron Bull to join them as well. Evana wanted to ask questions, but with Cullen grinning at her, his golden hair mussed and wild from the tussle despite obvious attempts to tame it, she could only grin back stupidly as she admired him. He’d donned his arming doublet over his tunic, the one she’d helped Harritt make, but otherwise remained without armor. She’d never seen him like this before, so light and almost carefree. It suited him in ways she couldn’t have imagined, and she greedily memorized every detail - from his relaxed, pauldron-less shoulders to the slackened curve of his large, gloveless fingers. She wondered dazedly what those fingers would feel like on her skin…

She blushed at the direction of her thoughts but couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away. Cassandra laughed loudly at Cullen’s assurances, however, and broke the spell he seemed to have woven around her.

“Well that is good news. Tell me Bull, would you care for some extra hand-to-hand training? I am sure the Commander would be happy to oblige you.”

Bull laughed with her good-naturedly. “Actually, I probably could use a little refresher, but I don’t think I’ll ever be as agile as the Commander. I’m more of a ‘hack and slash with a giant ax’ kinda guy.”

“Thank you for allowing me to give that exhibit for the soldiers,” Cullen said as he turned slightly toward Bull. “They need to see that even a smaller enemy can take you down if you are not well-trained. And vice versa - you can take down a larger opponent if you have the training.”

“What would you have done if I’d have won, then?”

“I knew you wouldn’t.”

Cullen smirked. The Iron Bull groaned. Evana nearly swooned.

“Don’t get cocky, Commander.”

“It’s not being cocky. I’m just proficient at that style of combat. Very few people could take me down. It’s why I suggested that instead of, say, daggers or archery.”

Bull gave a wry grin. “I think I’ve been had.”

“I hate to interrupt your important conversation, but the Inquisitor and I are supposed to be practicing her hand-to-hand combat skills right now, so if you would be so kind as to-”

“Well that’s perfect timing, then!” Bull deflected. “No offense, Seeker, but don’t you think our Inquisitor should be learning from the best? What do you say Commander?”

The look in Bull’s eye made her instantly suspicious. He’d been talking with Varric and Dorian too much. Evana demurred as quickly as possible.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t take up any more of the Commander’s time. I’m sure he’s got things…”

But Cassandra nodded approvingly. “That is not a bad idea Bull. We have gone over defense maneuvers - how to escape from many of the holds, but perhaps you could show her some of the kick and punch blocks?”

Evana gaped at Cassandra. Surely she wasn’t in on this, too? But no, the Seeker’s pensive gaze, as if sizing up the Commander, made it clear Cassandra’s interest lay in what Cullen could teach her pupil. Cullen, however, cleared his throat, and the tension returned to his face and shoulders.

“I don’t think… uh… I mean… it wouldn’t be appropriate.”

A frown creased his brow, and he hadn’t looked her in the eye since Bull made the suggestion. But Cassandra wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“Nonsense, Commander. You will not be wallowing around on the ground with the Inquisitor. You can simply show her some of the more common blocks from close-range attacks. The more she knows before going out into the field, the better.”

Cullen finally took a deep breath, and glanced at her. She tried for an encouraging smile, though the idea of him at such close range set her nerves on edge. Something in her expression must have convinced him, however, because he suddenly gave a curt nod and began unbuckling his doublet.

“I can show you a few things, yes.”

The Iron Bull gave a cheer and a cackle before backing away a few feet to give them room. Cassandra joined Bull on the sidelines and began listing out her recommendations on where to start. Evana swallowed thickly, the anticipation of his closeness and fear of her own reactions mixing together to form a mass of butterflies in her stomach. To her dismay, Dorian and Varric appeared on the stairs from the great hall at that moment and quickly joined the others to watch, mischievous grins and all. In the meantime, Cullen carefully laid the doublet over a nearby fence and then walked back to stand in front of her.

“Show me the preparation stance Cassandra taught you.”

Evana got into the position Cassandra had shown her, and he walked around her nodding. “Good.” When he came back around, he gave her a tight smile. “You won’t always have time to get into this stance before an attack, but it helps with your balance if you can.” He took a similar stance himself as he faced her. “We’ll go through front and flank blocks alternately. Try to kick me.”

“Um, how should I kick you? Just any way?” she queried tentatively.

His tight smile relaxed a little. “Yes, any way that feels most comfortable. I assume Cassandra has taught you the basic types?”

She nodded. “Yes. Front, side and back kicks.”

“Good, so try to kick me. Any way you like.”

She raised her leg and threw a quick side kick at him. He darted to the side and grabbed her leg at the knee, giving it a small tug upward to show her the move without actually taking her down.

“Always use your opponent’s momentum against them if you can. You saw how I used Bull’s charge to take him down?”

She managed a nod even as his hands on her leg drove her to distraction. As if he’d only just noticed, he turned a little pink and finally let go of her to explain further. She unsteadily lowered her foot to the ground.

“You can do the same here. Once an opponent’s leg is in the air, they are less stable. If someone comes at you with a kick, aim your attack at their raised leg to unbalance them and hopefully put them on the ground. Now, you try on me.”

She missed the first time, so he set up again. This time, she caught at his calf and knee, pulled slightly. His muscles felt like granite under her fingers, and she had to force her mind back to the task at hand. They practiced a few more times, and then he showed her how to counter if someone tried the move on her.

“Your end goal is always to get away, so make it a quick kick or punch on a vulnerable body part, here, here or even here. Be sure to retract your leg or arm as quickly as possible to give them less opportunity to grab you. Then use the momentum from the push to propel yourself away from the attacker. Hopefully, you can get to a safe distance to launch a ranged attack.”

He touched the spots on his own body to demonstrate locations vulnerable to attack, then had her try to push him away with her kicks. He nodded and smiled.

“Very good, you catch on quickly. And remember, it’s also OK to simply run away if you feel you are outmatched. You can always double back and attack again from a better position.”

“You say that to me now… but would you say that to your soldiers? Your warriors?”

“To rogues and mages, absolutely. And even a good warrior knows that it’s sometimes better to retreat and live to fight another day. Unfortunately, in certain situations the consequences are too dire to contemplate a retreat.”

The fall of Haven hung heavy between them, and the way he looked at her now - as if he’d failed her - ripped another hole in her already tattered heart. The moment passed, however, and he pulled in a deep breath. The tight smile returned to his face as he continued with the lesson.

His mood gradually improved as he got more comfortable with teaching her. For her, however, things didn’t go quite as well. As light and chaste as they were, his touches set fire to her body as he continued to show her new attacks, blocks and counter blocks. They had never touched for more than a few moments at a time except for holding hands after Redcliffe, but now, his large, calloused hands constantly feathered over her bare arms, held her leg in place or pushed on her lower back to adjust her posture.

After thirty minutes, she was already having trouble concentrating when he moved to correct her posture on a block by sliding his hand from where it lay on her knee halfway up her thigh. She couldn’t hold back a tiny gasp as her eyes fluttered closed. She immediately opened them wide again after unbidden images flooded her mind - the two of them tangled in sheets, his hand slowly sliding up her bare thigh.

Belatedly, he seemed to realize his mistake and quickly dropped his hands, his face flushing red. Her cheeks flamed with a corresponding heat as she tried to focus on putting her leg back on solid ground, but the sharp ache that pulsed deep in her core at his intimate touch made it difficult to concentrate, even on a simple thing like balance.

“Is the heat getting to you, Commander?” Bull called from the sidelines. “Seems like you’re breathing harder now than you did during our tussle. I didn’t realize our Inquisitor was such a handful.”

Dorian and Varric laughed heartily, and Evana flushed hotter. Bull’s teasing hit a little too close to home for her… but then she realized he’d said _Commander_. She glanced over to see that he was, indeed, breathing a little harder, and his cheeks seemed redder than only a moment ago. Before either of them could say anything, Cassandra shut Bull down with a deadly tone.

“Bull, if you insist on disrupting this lesson, you may find other entertainment for the morning.”

That started a mini argument between the two. Evana gave the Commander a couple of sidelong glances while they both watched the Seeker deal with the situation. Had he been affected in the same way she had? He looked perfectly calm now, standing there in his tunic and leather breeches, a slight breeze playing in his hair. Creators, he looked amazing. He turned toward her, his honey-gold eyes intense and serious, and the fervent ache grew stronger.

_Oh, for Creators’ sake, get it together, Evana!_

She couldn’t keep this up. As much as she’d learned and as useful as it all would be, she had to be done. And still he gazed at her with those molten pools of liquid gold, all warm and inviting and perfect for drowning in. Right now, that felt like exactly the right thing to do…

_Snap out of it!_

“Do you know the time, Commander? I think I need to go clean up for my meeting with the nobles.”

“I believe it’s about half past nine, my lady.”

Was it just wishful thinking, or did his voice sound strained? “Ah, yes. Well, thank you for the demonstrations. I hope I’ll be able to remember some of it.”

“You just need to practice.”

“I won’t have anyone to practice with for the next few days.” She raised her brow. “We both know that I can’t learn anything from the Iron Bull. I wonder if Blackwall is any good at-”

“It would be safer to practice with Cassandra when you return to Skyhold.”

Despite her current distress, the side of her mouth quirked upward at his firm tone. “But would it be wise to delay my training, Commander?”

Cullen’s jaw clenched. He shifted a bit, and turned his gaze away for a moment before looking her in the eye once more.

“No, I suppose not.”

She bowed and moved to walk past him. “I promise to be careful. Maybe Hawke or the Grey Warden, Stroud, will have some tips.”

She heard him exhale forcefully as she passed by and couldn’t quite smother her grin, wondering at his reaction. It seemed like perhaps… perhaps he was jealous? His voice stopped her before she’d taken more than a few steps.

“Thank you, by the way.” She turned back to look at him quizzically, and he motioned to the fence where the doublet hung. “It’s a masterwork.”

She blushed yet again. “Oh, that! It was nothing. Harritt did most of the work, obviously. I was just stopping in, and I thought - I mean - I thought you might want it to match your sword.” Why did that sound sexual to her? “I mean, the grip on your sword…” _NOT BETTER._ “... that is… I… I’ll see you later, Commander!”

Before he could respond or Cassandra could stop her, she rushed up the stairs to her quarters as fast as her wobbly legs could carry her.

 

**

 

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. After a quick bath, she put on some hastily acquired, ill-fitting clothes - more like pajamas really - and met with the nobles. If she’d still had the robes from Keeper Deshanna, she would have worn them, but she’d only managed to escape from Haven with the things she’d carried into battle. Luckily, she hadn’t changed out of her armor after closing the Breach, so she still had her staff along with all the potions and valuables neatly tucked into the amazing number of pockets stitched into her coat. Josephine was working on getting her more clothing, but they hadn’t arrived, yet. The nobles seemed properly satisfied by her presence, however, so she moved on to the library to speak with Fiona.

“Hello, Inquisitor. Can I help you?”

Evana smiled warmly at the Grand Enchanter. “I was just dropping by to check in with you and see how everything is going. Are you settling in alright?”

“As well as can be expected after Haven, although I’m sure that is the case for everyone. I was wondering if I could trouble you…”

“Of course, Fiona. What is it?” Evana prompted.

Fiona sighed and paced away from her, then paused and walked back. “I know that necessary renovations are occurring right now, and I thought I might take the opportunity to request a space for our mages to live and do research. I know it cannot be a top priority at this time, but our mages are eager to repay the Inquisition for your assistance. We can research and test spells you might require in your fight against Corypheus and can otherwise be of service in making life in Skyhold more palatable to those nobles you wish you impress. I believe we’ve discovered pools of frigid waters in the caverns below Skyhold?”

Evana nodded, her brows raising in anticipation of what Fiona might propose. She was not disappointed.

“If you like, we’d be happy to develop any spells and runes necessary to turn the caverns into a bath house. Such an amenity would be welcomed by all, I expect.”

Evana hummed her agreement. “Yes, I imagine it would.”

“We can also arrange for immolation spells to decrease our… waste issues.”

Evana chuckled and then gave Fiona a curious look. “Have you spoken with Josephine about your proposed amenities?”

Fiona shook her head. “We are beginning to get a hang of this freedom you’ve given us, and we don’t want to be considered ungrateful, but we have yet to speak with anyone about our ideas.”

Evana nodded and smiled kindly at Fiona. “I understand. I have to leave for a mission tomorrow, but I will make sure Josephine is well aware of the considerable benefits a mage tower would offer... Speaking of which, I’m hoping to have the garden cleared out and replanted in the coming weeks. Would any of your mages be interested in working in the garden?”

“Oh, yes. The Commander already approached me this morning about directing some of his soldiers in cultivation of the garden. We have a few, mostly former Dalish or healers, who specialize in that area as well.”

Evana couldn’t keep the surprise from her face or voice. “He- he did?”

Fiona looked a little confused, but nodded. “Yes. Did you not know of his plans to renovate the space? I believe he was hoping to have work start tomorrow.”

“Oh, uh… yes, of course! Very good. He must be anticipating me. I - well - that’s all for now.”

“Dareth shiral, Inquisitor.”

Evana bowed and turned away, a bit stunned. She had only mentioned the garden to Cullen yesterday, and he hadn’t said anything about taking it on as a project. He was also planning to start work on the very day she left Skyhold. He wasn’t... was he trying to surprise her? The thought made her heart do a small flip-flop as a slow smile spread across her face.

She felt eyes on her and looked up to see Dorian smiling mischievously at her from his plush corner chair in the library. He was here more often than not, reading some history or other. Just another thing that endeared him to her.

“Penny for your thoughts, Inquisitor.”

She wouldn’t take the bait. “Good morning, Dorian.”

“Morning? It’s almost lunchtime. Come, let’s eat. I know there’s something you want to talk with me about, anyway.”

Evana furrowed her brow. “You do? How-”

Dorian laughed as he grabbed her hand and dragged her down the stairs. “Because Varric and I talk with one another… quite a bit, actually. You’re taking him away to Crestwood - which means no one will be left to take care of your dashing Commander. Who will make sure he doesn’t work himself to death without you around to distract him with your wistful gazes and full, luscious lips?”

“Dorian!” she gasped and waved apologetically at a disapproving Solas as they walked quickly through the other elf’s study on their way to the tavern. She’d caught up with him at this point, but he showed no signs of slowing down his long strides. So, he walked and she jogged through the great hall.

“With as often as he stares at that mouth of yours - not to mention your other, quite lovely attributes - you might as well get over denying it. He wants you. _Badly_. And since I know I won’t be able to distract him with _my_ good looks, I’ll have to rely on my wit and cunning. Do you know if the Commander plays chess?”

Evana, still dumbstruck by Dorian fast-paced assertions of Cullen’s… wants, stuttered out a barely intelligible response. “Wha-uh-no-I-dunno.”

“Do _you_?”

At his impish grin, she finally managed to untwist her tongue. “No, it’s not a game the Dalish are familiar with.”

“Well, then I’ll have to teach you!”

They reached the tavern and Dorian finally let go of her hand. She leaned against the wall outside the tavern to catch her breath.

“You want to teach me to play chess? Why?”

“So you and the Commander can play, of course!”

“Oh, Dorian! If I didn’t love you so much…”

She paused as a group of young girls pass by them. One cupped her hand to her friends ear and whispered something, and the two looked directly at them and giggled.

He grabbed her hand again, waggling his eyebrows as he lead her into the tavern. “Although I’m never one to deny an admirer, be careful what you admit to in public, Inquisitor. You may start exactly the wrong kind of rumor.”

“I’ll leave you to deal with that while I’m away, then.”

Dorian grinned, and she groaned. As much as she appreciated him, she felt at times that he was almost more trouble than he was worth… almost.

“Don’t worry, Your Worship. There’s too much at stake - namely, what’s left of my reputation - to let that kind of misunderstanding go uncorrected. Your Commander already wishes to murder me in my sleep for touching you the way I do… he practically turns green with envy. By the way, you do know - you and me - it’s just all in good fun, right?”

“I gathered that, yes, from watching your interactions with the other mages in Haven… I don’t mind it if you don’t.”

Dorian laughed. “I certainly don’t mind. It just proves you have exceedingly good taste.”

She rolled her eyes as he left her at a table to order food at the bar. Dorian was an interesting person, to say the least. He presented a shallow facade, but the glimpses of depth she’d witnessed during recent conversations in the library had convinced her she’d only scratched the surface of his true worth. The man also loved to flirt, but it never went beyond that with anyone that she could see. She’d never flattered herself that he might be in any danger of falling for her, and she was in no danger of it herself. But she was glad he’d finally clarified his non-interest and hoped he would do the same with everyone else.

Now, if only she could get him to stop teasing her about Cullen…

Dorian returned a few minutes later with a couple of plates and some wine. “Now, let’s talk about my mission. I’m to keep him from working too hard, correct?”

“Well, I - I guess just make sure he takes a break now and then. If he does enjoy chess, that would be a good way to get his mind off his work for a change.”

“It’s no long walk in the forest with the woman he loves, but it will have to do, I suppose.”

Evana’s heart dropped. “How did you…? Nevermind… just… please don’t joke about that. He - I’m sure he doesn’t feel that way… and even if he does find me as attractive as you say, I’m a _mage_.”

Dorian’s face went serious. “What does being a mage have to do with it? Because he used to be a templar? No, no... the way he looks at you... Don’t be ridiculous.”

Evana shook her head. “Even… even if what you say is true - and I can’t say that I believe it is - desire and attraction are not the same thing as love, Dorian. Love requires sacrifice.”

“You don’t have to be _in love_ to enjoy a roll in the hay, my dear. If it isn’t love, then it’s certainly a powerful kind of lust. Anyone paying the least bit of attention can see it.”

Her cheeks flamed, and she shook her head again. “I appreciate your perspective, but I’m not casual like that, Dorian. I don’t begrudge those who are, but... it’s not in my nature. I need… more. Even if he’s attracted to me… for him, an ex-templar, to _love_ a mage? Not just love, but want to sacrifice his principles and be with me in any real or significant way? If he did… love me… would it be enough for him to _stay_ with me?”

Dorian quirked his immaculately groomed eyebrow and rather thoughtfully took a bite of his lunch. Finally, after thoroughly chewing his food, he replied.

“What about you, then? How can you be in love with an ex-templar? You are, are you not?”

Although it was logical flip, it confused her. “In _love_? I hardly know. I know that I go weak in the knees when he’s around, but I also know he’s been deeply scarred by past events - events directly caused by mages. He has yet to speak of these things with me. Is that any basis for a relationship?”

Dorian blinked. “Well, we’re now out of my depth. As amazing as I am, I hardly know a thing about _relationships_ , so perhaps I’ll just stick to my duty and keep him occupied.”

She had to laugh. “Yes, perhaps that is best.”

“Ok, finish your lunch. I’m going to grab a chess board. Your first lesson begins now!”

She groaned. “I have far too much to do…”

“Shush. It won’t take long to show you the basics. I’m an excellent teacher.”

He returned with the board, and they played for the half an hour she’d given herself to waste that day. By the end, she had a good grasp of the rules, but the strategy part still eluded her.

“Oh, that just takes practice,” Dorian assured her. “You’ve got to think forward to what move your opponent might make after yours. Many great players I know can strategize moves out to the end of the game. I’m not quite that good, but I’ve always got a few moves up my sleeves.”

“You certainly do!”

Dorian laughed appreciatively at her insinuation. “Speaking of which, I did think of one piece of advice for you.”

She abruptly dropped her head in her hands and groaned. “Not this again.”

“Just one thing. The only way you’ll ever know if he could care for a mage is if you _ask_ him.”

Evana felt the heat rush to her face. “A-ask him?”

He was right, of course. It was the mature, adult thing to do. But the very thought frightened her more than she could express. If he didn’t care for her, they would be completely embarrassed and awkward around each other for a while before, hopefully, finding neutral ground. But... what if he _did_ care for her? What then? Was she ready to forsake her clan, her family, her heritage - all for a shelmen who might leave her in the end? She’d begun to feel accepted by these people - her advisors and companions - but it was all in the hopes that someday the strife would end, Corypheus would be defeated, and she would be able return home.

Or perhaps she would be dead long before that.

And why hadn’t she forced herself to think about all this _before_ she’d waded in so deep?

“I can’t do that. We are all constantly putting our lives in danger. I could die tomorrow on the way to Crestwood, or next week at a Fade rift, or-”

“We all die, darling. Granted, you are in danger a little bit more than the rest of us, but that doesn’t mean we should stop having fun in the time we _do_ have.”

“Pardon me if none of this feels like fun,” she grumbled. “I’m being hunted by a darkspawn Magister. The Grey Wardens may be raising a demon army. The templars are ingesting tainted red lyrium and following a would-be god instead of the Chantry. My clan is in danger, but I can’t go to them. I can only send aid and hope that when I return we will have received word that all is well - that my family is still alive. And all I want is to live long enough to stop Corypheus and… and go home. Adding a complicated relationship to that mess… I don’t think it’s fair - to either of us.”

Dorian tipped his head to the side and then sighed dramatically. “Well, my lovely Inquisitor, you’re all grown up, aren’t you? Making the hard decisions in life.” He reached out and patted her hand. “Just don’t expect us to give up teasing you two if you insist on being so adorably awkward around each other. All that unresolved sexual tension is going to draw us like moths to the flame.”

She heaved a sigh and stood up, giving him a warning look over her shoulder as she walked out of the tavern. She had to close the door to block out his riotous laughter.

The stables were her next destination. Blackwall had agreed to help repair and rebuild the barn, and had taken to sleeping on the second floor. She wanted to make sure that he was fully supplied for their mission tomorrow as well as talk with Dennet about any further needs. She was on her way down the courtyard steps when she saw the boy, Cole, sitting in the grass. She vaguely remembered seeing him around in the past week, but the memories were fuzzy. Cassandra and Solas stood next to him deep in discussion. Cassandra turned to address her as she approached.

“Inquisitor, we were just discussing if Cole was perhaps a mage, given his unusual abilities.”

“He can cause people to forget him, or even fail entirely to notice him,” Solas replied to Cassandra. “These are not the abilities of a mage. It seems that Cole is a spirit.”

“A spirit? You mean, like a demon?” Cassandra asked.

“If you prefer, although the truth is somewhat more complex. In fact, his nature is not so easily defined.”

Cassandra grunted. “Speak plainly, Solas. What _are_ we dealing with?”

“Demons normally enter this world by possessing something. In their true form, they look bizarre, monstrous. But Cole has possessed nothing - no one, and yet he appears human in all respects.” Solas turned to Evana now. “Cole is unique, Inquisitor. More than that, he wishes to help. I suggest you allow him to do so.”

Solas had never guided her wrong, yet, but an actual spirit? The thought simultaneously thrilled and terrified her.

“I should at least hear what Cole has to say for himself,” she finally announced in lieu of a decision.

After the events at Haven, she felt… connected to the boy. Their shared look had comforted her. She knew enough of the Fade and the demons that lived there to distrust many of the spirits she met, but as Solas said, Cole seemed different - more complex.

They looked around for the boy, but he seemed to have disappeared… again. Finally, Solas pointed to the makeshift infirmary they’d set up in a corner of the lower courtyard. She approached him carefully as he stood by the fire. He seemed to sense her approach and spoke in a low tone.

“Haven. So many soldiers fought to protect the pilgrims so they could escape... Choking fear. Can’t think from the medicine but the cuts wrack me with every heartbeat. Hot white pain. Everything burns. I can’t. I can’t... I’m going to… I’m dying, I’m… dead.”

Astonished, she followed Cole’s eyes to a bedroll of a man who had clearly just died. “You’re feeling their pain?”

“It’s louder this close. The mages healed as many as they could, but some were too far gone. They linger until their time comes.”

“Would you like to go somewhere more comfortable?”

“Yes, but here is where I can help.” He paused, then started again in his low tone. “Cracked brown pain, dry, scraping. Thirsty.”

Cole brought the soldier a cup of water, and she croaked a soft, “Thank you.”

Cole looked at Evana. “It’s alright. She won’t remember me.”

“So... you’re using your powers as a spirit to help people?” Evana asked in a tentative voice.

“Yes. I used to think I was a ghost. I didn’t know. I made mistakes… but I made friends, too. Then a templar proved I wasn’t real. I lost my friends. I lost everything. I learned to be more like what I am. It made me different, but stronger. I can feel more… I can help.”

She approached Cole and laid a hand lightly on his shoulder. “If you’re willing to stay, we could use your help here. I saw you fight at Haven. Would you be willing to stand with me… to help me bring down Corypheus?”

“Yes, helping. I help the hurt… the helpless.”

“Thank you, Cole. It _will_ help.”

The boy gave her a small smile and wandered off to find another person to help. She returned to Cassandra and Solas.

“Cole will be staying with us. He seems to truly want to help, and we could use someone with his skills.”

Solas seemed pleased, but Cassandra clearly disapproved. “We should watch him, just in case.”

Evana smiled and started walking toward the stables once more. “Do as you must, but do not hurt him.”

The rest of the day passed by in a blur of reports and lessons with Josephine and packing. As much sleep as she’d gotten the night before, her new mattress called to her as she finished up reports at her desk in her quarters. Placing a small white pouch next to her saddlebags, she miraculously slipped into bed rather early with the knowledge that she’d need to be up before dawn tomorrow.

Heavy lids quickly closed in sleep, and instead of nightmares, she dreamed of golden curls, molten eyes and firm, calloused hands.


	23. In which Varric tags out and Dorian tags in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AKA - In which Dorian may not like _talking_ about his _own_ feelings, but he's a squishy marshmallow when it comes to helping his friends. And no one can convince me otherwise.

After a few minutes of groaning at the early hour and asking the empty, darkened room why he'd imagined this to be a good idea, Dorian dragged himself out of bed, made himself presentable and took the back stairs into the lower courtyard. Evana left for Crestwood this morning, and he needed to see the Commander's reaction to her departure... among other things.

He froze on the stairs when he caught sight of the Commander and Evana in the dim, early morning light. They both leaned against the barn, and he had a full view of their profiles. She handed him a small white pouch of something, clearly having trouble looking him in the eyes as she spoke - probably a direct result of Dorian's words to her yesterday. The Commander ducked his head and tried to catch her downward gaze as he replied. Unfortunately, Dorian wasn't close enough to hear them, but he feared moving any closer would alert them to his presence.

That would make the Commander jealous, and Dorian wasn't ready for that part of the plan... yet.

Dorian stifled a laugh at the thought. If only the poor Commander knew. If Dorian got the answers he hoped for this morning, perhaps he would set the Commander's mind at ease. He shuddered slightly at the thought of revealing himself in such a way to someone he knew so little about, but if it helped his new friend...

He huffed out a small sigh. He had precious few friends, and he would do whatever he could to ensure her happiness, even if it meant putting himself on the line in the process. Although, these Southerners seemed far more accepting than he'd anticipated. Perhaps... perhaps it wouldn't be so bad after all to have the truth out there. To be able to be himself without fear of being outed or persecuted. Well, about _that_ , anyway. He'd always be an evil "magister" from Tevinter to most.

Dorian's attention moved back to the awkward pair by the stables. Her eyes rose to the Commander's now and then, only to fluttered downward almost immediately. He could see the mixture of concern, worry and frustration on the Commander's face, along with something else Dorian couldn't quite place. Fear, perhaps? The Commander would ask her a question, and she would answer demurely, shifting her feet a little bit. Finally, he seemed to say something that caught her attention. She looked up at the Commander, her mouth forming the word, "What?"

Now that the Commander had caught her gaze, his countenance reflected a tenderness mixed with worry that Dorian had never seen on the stern military man before. _This must be what he's like when they're alone. Very encouraging._ The Commander's left hand rested on the pommel of his sword, but his right hand hung loose at his side. As the two continued to speak, Dorian noticed the Commander's hand squeeze into a fist, only to relax again a moment later. Perhaps a response to something she said? Or a way to keep from reaching out to her?

Dorian saw her eyes close, and she turned her head away, a pained expression on her face. The Commander's hand uncurled and tentatively rose to settle on her upper arm. He pushed off the wall and took a step toward her, his face still full of concern.

_Atta boy, Commander! Now, pull her to you and kiss her like there's no tomorrow!_

But, of course, he didn't. He said something - no doubt something encouraging and commander-y. She nodded and looked up at him, gratitude written all over face. Then the Commander's hand dropped and immediately clenched again. Dorian internally crowed over the funny little tell. They were both simply hopeless.

Dorian sighed out loud, then recollected himself. He looked closely, but neither appeared to have heard him. It didn't matter, however, because a few seconds later, Blackwall came out of the stables leading two horses. The Commander stepped back from Evana as Blackwall called out a friendly greeting.

"Hello there! Where are the others? It's time we were on our way."

After a somewhat shy look at the Commander, Evana walked over to Blackwall just as Dorian pushed off his spot against the tower wall and walked toward the stables. The Commander seemed to notice the movement from his peripheral vision and looked a little shocked, as well as quite put out, to see Dorian approaching.

"Dorian."

The Commander's acknowledgement came out as more of a growl than a greeting. It took all Dorian's self control to bite back the laughter bubbling up in his chest.

"Good morning, Commander! I'm just here to see off our exalted leader. I assume you're here for the same?"

"Of course."

"And to pass off trinkets? I didn't know you and our Inquisitor were so close."

The Commander started visibly, his hand raising to touch the pocket where he'd stashed the pouch, and eyed Dorian warily. _Putting together in his head what I might have seen, no doubt._

"Not trinkets. Just ... she's been ... helping me with something."

"Ahhh... well, I won't tell anyone. I promise."

The Commander looked away, and Dorian strained to hear his response.

"There's nothing to tell."

"Oh, I wouldn't say _that_ ," Dorian quipped.

At the comically pained expression on the Commander's face, Dorian finally let loose the laughter he'd been holding back. Hearing his laugh, Evana turned to them. She looked back and forth between them, her astonishment at seeing Dorian apparent in her looks and stance. Dorian waggled his eyebrows at her.

"Did you think I'd miss seeing you off, darling? Oh, and don't worry about those things we discussed yesterday. I'll be on my best behavior while you're away. You can leave _everything_ to me."

She shook her head but couldn't quite fight back the smile. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm afraid of. Our ideas of ‘best behavior' are likely quite different."

Dorian quirked a brow at her and then strode over to her, gathered her up in his arms, and spun her around in a great bear hug. He stopped at just the right angle to get a good look at the Commander's face and - _Oh! Blackest of black looks! Good!_

"You be safe, now," he admonished a bit louder than strictly necessary. "I need to you come back to me."

Evana immediately pushed away from him and shot a glance at the Commander, who had already turned his head away and now glowered at the stable entrance.

She gave Dorian a dirty look and hissed, "I know what you're doing. Stop it!"

Dorian lowered his voice, giving it a bit of a plaintive tone. "I'm just trying to judge his reactions. How can I know how to act if I don't know how deeply in love with you he is?"

She raised her brows as an expression of terror mixed with irritation crossed her face. There was no mistaking the anger in her tone, and she forgot to lower her voice this time.

"Don't you _dare_! I absolutely forbid you from interfering in this!"

When she noticed the Commander turn back to them, a displeased expression on his face, she gave Dorian the most fearsome look she could apparently manage, pointed at him and spat out in a whisper, "I will kick you out of this Inquisition if you so much as bring this up with him!"

"What if he brings it up with me?"

"He would never-"

"Oh, I have ways."

She apparently decided to change tactics at this point. "Dorian, please. Don't interfere? I don't even know what I want. What if you convince him and then he changes his mind later? What if _I_ change my mind later?" She buried her face in her hands. "Oh, Creators, I can't take this."

"Trust me! I'm good at telling people things about themselves. More interesting to tell them all about me, of course, but still..."

She raised her head and huffed a little, a pained expression back on her face. "Dorian..."

Out of the corner of his eye, Dorian had been watching the Commander tentatively approach them as their conversation turned heated. _Oh, this is just too much fun. He thinks it's a lover's tiff, and he wants to protect her. He's in so deep._

"Is..." the Commander cleared his throat and started again in a firmer tone. "Is everything alright?"

Evana apparently hadn't seen him approach and jumped a little. She spun toward him, fighting off the pained expression and replacing it with a tight smile.

"Yes, yes, of course. We were... um... just talking about a potential mission."

Dorian smirked. "Oh, I'm on a mission alright."

Evana closed her eyes, took a deep breath and then opened her eyes to give the Commander an apologetic look. "I am _so_ sorry."

Confusion flitted over the Commander's face, with good cause. Dorian ignored them now as they gazed at each other. He'd seen all he needed to see. Instead, he turned to greet the Iron Bull and Varric, who were just coming down from the upper courtyard.

"Ahh, here you two are! The Commander and I were beginning to think we'd have to replace you on this mission."

The Iron Bull snorted. "As if you could replace me."

"Not me, you brute," Dorian sniffed at the hulking Qunari. Who had a right to that much rippling muscle and raw power, anyway? Positively abhorrent. "The Commander would take your place, seeing as he can easily best you on a level playing field."

"What? You worried I'll take out my frustrations on you, Vint?"

"You can't deny you enjoy butchering my people."

"Hey," Bull protested, "butchering implies I'm gonna eat 'em. Most Vints are just gristle and fat in a red wine marinade."

Dorian raised his brows in grudging agreement. "Well, that much is true."

Varric cackled. "If Cullen's replacing Bull, that means you're replacing me? Not a chance. I don't get to see Hawke enough as it is. I'm not passing up this opportunity."

Dorian acknowledged Varric with a slight bow as the two passed by but said nothing further. Instead, he eyed the Qunari critically as Bull turned to ready his mount.

The Iron Bull had done such a superb job integrating himself into Thedosian culture as a Tal-Vashoth, Dorian had to wonder how many other supposed "defectors" from the Qun were actually spies. How many walked among them even now living out normal, un-Qunish lives when, all the while, they took their orders from the Ben Hassrath?

Bull had assimilated so well, Dorian often found himself forgetting the beast still professed to follow the Qun. At what point did the pretense end and the real Iron Bull begin? How could a person really know himself if he spent all his time pretending to be someone - _something_ \- else?

Dorian shuddered at the thought, his mind veering away from Bull and into thoughts of his own troubled youth in Tevinter. Of his father's betrayal. He gritted his teeth and inhaled deeply. _Think on other things. Think of all the new books Josephine has procured for you. Think of your new, beautiful, accepting friend and how you might ensure her happiness._

His attention moved back to the group now bidding each other farewell, and he deliberately took a place next to the Commander. When she came to him, Evana gave Dorian a final look of warning, but he merely shrugged in return. Perturbed, she had to school her expression before offering the Commander a soft smile and a final farewell. Then the group turned their horses toward the gate and rode out of Skyhold.

"Well, there they go," Dorian intoned. "I have a feeling it's going to be rather boring here without them. Do you play chess, Commander?"

The Commander looked at him with a mixture of surprise and irritation. "I... yes, I do."

"Good, I'll be by with a board later. Have a nice morning!"

He left the Commander standing in the courtyard watching the Inquisitor's party until they passed completely out of view.

 

**

 

After a morning of developing and practicing spells with the other mages, Dorian had settled into his favorite chair in the library when Cole wandered in. The boy seemed a bit aimless, as if he were searching for something but didn't really know where to look. Dorian had been curious about the spirit boy since his arrival in Haven, but hadn't yet had the opportunity to speak with him. Now was as good a time as any.

"Hello, Cole. Are you looking for something?"

"I'm trying to find the hurt, so I can help."

Dorian considered a moment. "Well, it's not a pain or emotional scar, but you could help me by easing my curiosity."

Instantly curious, Cole moved toward him expectantly. "Yes?"

"Solas tried to explain your form to me, but I'm still a bit confused. You're not possessing a human body? You... actually look like that?"

"Yes."

Dorian was perplexed. "But a spirit's true form is always monstrous, or at least unnatural."

Cole nodded. "That's because the world doesn't make sense to them. It's too real. That's why they look wrong."

"But... this is how _you_ want to look?

"I _want_ to help. Looking doesn't matter."

Dorian sat forward in his chair as Cole walked a little closer to him. "Can you change your form? If you wanted to look like something else?"

"But I don't want to look like something else."

Dorian thought a moment about the implications of Cole's abilities. The conclusions were not comforting.

"Hmm. There are magisters who'd be ecstatic if they could summon a demon who could pass for human."

Cole shook his head, his voice taking on a slight tremble. "They would use it to hurt people."

"You're right about that. They would." Dorian considered another moment, then asked, "Do you need to eat? Or sleep?"

Cole shrugged. "I thought I had to. But I don't. The old songs can pull me."

"That's something. I don't know what, but it's something. What about when you're injured? Why do you bleed? Is it because you think you have to?"

"Is that why you bleed?" Cole asked.

Dorian paused, slightly taken aback. "I... Well, yes. You have me there."

"You ask a lot of questions, Dorian."

"I'm curious about you. I had no idea something like you was possible."

Cole nodded and an eager look glinted in the boy's eye. "I'm curious about you, too."

Dorian sat back in his chair, suddenly nervous. "I... I suppose you can ask me questions, if you like. I'm not sure why you'd want to, but..."

"Good! Thank you! I will let you know when I have questions. But there is hurt. I must find it."

The boy wandered out in much the same manner he wandered in. Dorian looked around him, but none of the others in the library had seemed to notice or pay any attention to the conversation.

"I'm... going to regret this, aren't I?" he muttered under his breath as thoughts of his father filled his mind and further soured his mood.

He shook off the dour thoughts and settled into reading, but a few hours later, he set the book aside. It was time to fulfill his Inquisitor's sort-of command to keep the Commander company... and ignore the other commands to not interfere in her business. _If I don't do something, those two will be dancing around each other until the end of days - which, granted, might be sooner rather than later._

Dorian walked down the stairs, through the rotunda, and across the bridge to the Commander's new office in the main watch tower. The Commander, of course, begged off with the excuse of too much work. Dorian had expected as much. He _hadn't_ expected the general look of ill health in the Commander's visage. Was this what he looked like at the end of every day? Dorian began to understand Evana's concerns.

"I'll let you off this once, Commander. But I'll be back tomorrow afternoon, so make sure you get your work done because I'll expect a game. All work and no play makes for a dull, half-witted Commander."

The Commander grunted but didn't outright tell him no. Even if he had, Dorian would have been back the next day all the same. He was on a mission, dammit.

 

**

 

The following day, the Commander seemed ready for Dorian as he entered the office, chessboard in tow.

"It took me a little longer than it should have," the Commander admitted, "but I finally figured out that the Inquisitor put you up to this. Her apology in the courtyard before she left was because she was sicking you on me in Varric's absence. Am I right?"

Dorian just shrugged and pulled a chair up to the Commander's desk. "What's so surprising about me wanting to spend time with our ruggedly handsome Commander? ... Don't worry. I won't try anything untoward."

Dorian noted this as the first time he'd seen the Commander look truly shocked. And then the blush came. Dorian simply continued clearing a space on the desk, fighting back equal parts apprehension and amusement. He was taking a risk in revealing himself in such a way, and a part of him still rebelled against the very idea even after the words had been spoken.

"I... you... what?"

"Relax, Commander. I'm just trying to tell you that my relationship with our Inquisitor is not at all what _people_ seem to think." Dorian raised his eyebrows with a questioning look. "Come now. Don't tell me you haven't noticed my fabulous but unconventional style? My salacious wit? How about my lewd looks at certain soldiers?"

Cullen just stared at him. "I... can't say that I have."

"Straight as an arrow, then, eh?" Dorian sighed. "A shame. White or black?"

"What?"

"The game, Commander? White or black?"

"Oh... uh... black."

Dorian set up the board in silence as he allowed the Commander to process his words. Despite his bluster and teasing, Dorian actually had no intention of revealing Evana's thoughts to Cullen. He only intended to remove any obstacles, including himself, that might prevent the Commander from acting on his desires. Unless the Commander asked about her _specifically_ , of course.

"So, you... uh... you and she are... what, then?"

Dorian smirked. "We are close friends. Wouldn't you say the same about yourself and the Inquisitor?"

"Yes - that is, I would like to think... yes."

"Alright, your move."

"What?"

"It's your move."

"Right!"

The Commander tried to shift gears, and Dorian felt himself relax marginally at the apparent lack of reproach for his revelation. They played in silence for some time, and Dorian saw that he would beat the Commander handily. From his attempts, however, the military man would be a proper opponent if his thoughts weren't otherwise occupied.

"I wouldn't do that, Commander," Dorian chided. "You'll put your queen in danger. Aren't you supposed to be a great battle strategist... leader the Inquisition's military forces and all that?"

The Commander seemed to shake himself from his thoughts for a moment to really look at the board. He saw immediately that the game belonged to Dorian.

"I concede this game to you, Dorian. Shall we try again? I'm afraid my mind was... elsewhere for the majority of this one."

Dorian smiled and raised an eyebrow at the Commander but only said, "Of course. I'm only too happy to let you lose to my superior skills _again_... unless you think you might be able to pay attention this time around?"

The Commander didn't respond, but a tinge of pink touched his cheeks as Dorian reset the board. He saw the other man lean forward with a determined look on his face and resettle himself in his chair in an attempt to focus on the game. He did much better this time, though Dorian saw his eyes turn distant more than once. As the game went on, they even managed a bit of small talk.

"So, I take it things are coming together for us here in Skyhold?"

The Commander looked up from the board. "Yes, we are in a much better place strategically, and once the renovations are complete, Skyhold will be a formidable fortress."

Dorian hummed. "And also a haven for those in need."

"By all means," the Commander assured as he looked back down to consider his next move. "We are here to protect those who cannot protect themselves - cannot fight for themselves. We have an advantage in the Inquisitor, but I would be here regardless."

"You believe in fighting for those weaker and less fortunate. I wish more of my kinsmen felt the same, putting the good of others above themselves. My friend Felix felt that way, though - proof that not all magisters are evil, mustache-twirling villains."

"I'd hardly consider you a villain, either, Dorian..." The Commander paused as if considering, then added, "though you _do_ have the mustache."

Dorian straightened in his chair and took on a haughty demeanor in response to the Commander's deliberate goading. "Are you questioning the honor of my mustache, Commander?"

The Commander actually _snorted_ and exclaimed, "Maker! No. I would never." His smile faded as he made his move and looked up from the board. "But you said ‘felt,' as in...?"

"Felix is dead. But surely you read the reports on Gereon?"

"Yes, his son had been ill for some time, but still Felix turned against his father in the end. I-" The Commander shifted in his chair and stared at the board for a moment before raising his eyes to Dorian. "That requires strength of character. I'm sorry for the loss of your friend."

Dorian furrowed his brow, pushing back the sorrow that threatened to overwhelm him. "Yes, well, my comment stands. I wish more people felt as you and Felix did."

The Commander looked slightly surprised but said nothing. They lapsed into concentrated silence again, and by the end of the game, Dorian noted the Commander looked much more relaxed and less ill than the day before.

"And the game is mine!" Dorian asserted with a smile. "I'm afraid I have some research to do for Fiona, so I'll to let you get back to working yourself to death. Don't worry, though. I'll be back tomorrow. Try to focus a little more next time. I feel like you could give me a run for my money if you'd put your mind to it." He put the board and pieces on an empty bookshelf. "I'll just leave these here."

The Commander nodded, Dorian turned to leave, but a quiet voice stopped him.

"Dorian..."

Dorian paused and turned back to the man who now looked as though he wished he hadn't spoken. The Commander's face contorted into a grimace, and a kind of darkness Dorian knew all too well flashed in the depths of amber eyes.

"Yes, Commander," Dorian prompted.

"How did you know?" he finally responded.

 _More questions!_ Dorian thought about playing dumb, but he wasn't interested in baiting the Commander - at least, not at the moment. If the man wanted to be straightforward about this, Dorian would not discourage him.

"Besides the dark, decidedly _murderous_ looks every time I so much as lay a hand on our Inquisitor?"

The Commander leaned back in his chair and sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "How long since you... noticed, then?"

Dorian was a bit surprised the Commander didn't try to argue the point. _Another good sign_.

"Well, I had my suspicions even before we left for Redcliffe, but your look of terror at the sight of her nearly unconscious in my arms when we returned was the real tip off... that, and I came to check on her later and saw you through the window, still by her side - _holding her hand_."

The Commander grunted but, again, did not attempt to deny it. "And... she knows that you're, uh, not interested?"

Dorian laughed. "Yes, though she may not have guessed at why. We've talked about our friendship. She has agreed that it's all in fun... except for the one topic that seems to get under her skin whenever we talk about it."

Dorian paused and tapped his fingers on the door frame. He watched the Commander swallow hard as evidence of an internal struggle passed over his face, likely over whether or not he wanted to pursue the line of questioning further.

"Thank you, Dorian. I... it was good to get my mind away from my duties for a short time, even if I couldn't properly concentrate on the game."

Dorian decided to let it go. They had plenty of time to talk before Evana returned. In fact, he decided not to bring her up again for a while. The Commander had surprised Dorian with his nonchalant acceptance of both Felix's merits and Dorian's own... preferences, and it left Dorian with a great desire to better know Commander Cullen Rutherford.

Dare he hope for yet another friend here in the rustic South?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evana and Dorian became close during their time preparing to close the Breach, which is when I imagine them going through all the in-game dialogue - and a lot more. She is critical of Tevinter for its slaving practices but also accepts Dorian into her circle without reservation. At first, Dorian is unsure what to do with that, but now, she is truly his "special Snowflake." He will tease her and torment her to the end of time, but he'll also defend her to the death.
> 
> And all this _before_ his personal quest. ;)
> 
> Confession: When Dorian professes his undying friendship after you defend him in front of Mother Giselle, I always shout "I love you!" at the screen.
> 
> [Chapter 2 of Truths Half Told Beget Lives Half Lived](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9047525/chapters/20707255) is timed during the afternoon/evening after the declined chess game.


	24. In which revelations are remembered and forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen struggles through withdrawal symptoms, but Dorian comes to his rescue yet again. The Inquisitor returns after her adventures in Crestwood (including a dragon slaying).

Cullen stood up from his desk and immediately sat back down as a wave of dizziness threatened to topple him. He could feel the years of lyrium buildup beginning to leave his system, which was, of course, exhilarating to think about... but also excruciating to live through. Today, he'd run the full gamut - vivid nightmares, blurred vision, dizziness, cold sweats and constant headache and body aches throughout the day. The pain, instead of becoming more manageable with each passing week, had become progressively worse. The Inquisitor had given him the last of her medicinal tea when she left, and now, a week later, he was already running low. She’d promised to collect more supplies in Crestwood, but as intense as the symptoms had become, he dreaded running out before she returned.

_You could have a little sip. Just one to get you through... tide you over..._

Cullen growled against the insidious whisper. Standing up, he rested a fist on his desk, attempting to stabilize the world that spun around him. He would _not_ give in. He took the final drink of the tea he'd made for lunch, which seemed to provide firmer purchase on level ground. Taking a deep breath, he walked down to the stables, gathered his horse and rode down into the valley encampment.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant Rozellene," he called as he dismounted. The brisk air grounded him further as he approached the lines of men and women going through basic forms. "How are the afternoon exercises coming along?"

Rozellene shot him a smirk and waited for him to take up position beside her. "Very well, Commander. The new recruits seem to be picking up on the basics quickly, and the veterans are more attentive to their training after witnessing your resounding victory over the Qunari last week."

The Commander smiled ruefully as he recalled the exhibition and then had to push away thoughts of the one-on-one training afterwards. Now was not the time - if there were ever a good time - for unprofessional, inappropriate thoughts about their Inquisitor.

"I'm glad. Do you need assistance this afternoon?"

"We have an uneven amount of new recruits, so perhaps you could do rounds with us? It usually makes them work harder when you're pushing them."

Cullen's jaw clenched involuntarily. The world still wobbled a bit, but he thought he might be alright with new recruits. He nodded to the Lieutenant and got into formation. For an hour, he felt solid. The recruits still fumbled through the basics, so he didn't have to try very hard to keep up and instill a proper amount of fear in their hearts with his barked commands and corrections. But as they changed between each formation, the clashing of metal, glint of the sunlight on armor and raised voices began to take a toll. Pain flared behind his eyes and blurred his vision briefly, and he almost missed a parry.

"Oh, Maker! I'm so sorry, Ser!"

The recruit trembled before him, all the blood draining from his stricken face, but Cullen just waved him off and pulled out of formation, using all his remaining strength to put on a strong front for Rozellene. "Lieutenant, I must go, but please continue. The new recruits are doing fine. Excellent work."

"Yes, ser. Thank you, ser."

Rozellene said nothing more, but the strained look on her face told Cullen everything he needed to know about how he looked. Holding tightly to the saddle horn, he hauled himself onto his horse. Although the ride from the valley should have been easy, he struggled to keep a hold of the saddle as bright flashes of pain crippled his normal strength. After turning his horse over to the stable hands, he dragged up the stairs to his office and closed the doors against the harsh light just as a wave of nausea hit him. Leaning his back heavily against the wood, he shut his eyes against the dizziness and took some deep, controlled breaths. The whispering voice from earlier - a song, really, that had become stronger than ever in the last month - told him what he needed, what would make him feel well and strong again. It was there, waiting for him on the shelf in the corner. An emergency ration...

"My word, Commander. You look positively ill."

Cullen nearly jumped out of his skin. "Dorian! What in the Maker's name are you doing here? It's too early for our game."

"I saw that your people have nearly finished the gardens and had an idea about that charming gazebo in the corner ... but now I see I should be off for a healer."

"No!" Cullen pushed off the door heavily and stood straight. The pain and nausea flared again, but he did not falter, willing his vision to clear. "I'm alright."

"And you are a terrible liar, Commander. Anyone with eyes could see that you're unwell, and I happen to have exceptional eyesight. Why are you being so stubborn? A healer could relieve your pain in a matter of minutes."

" _No_. No healers."

Dorian's tone turned from half-sarcastic worry to anger. "Why? Because some of them are mages? I'm beginning to see what our Inquisitor is afraid of."

Cullen looked squarely into Dorian's flashing gray eyes but said nothing. Denying Dorian's claim would require an explanation - one he wasn't sure he wanted to give.

Shaking his head with a small sigh, Dorian stood up from where he had perched on the side of Cullen's desk and began walking toward the opposite door. Cullen paused another moment, debating with himself. During their first conversation Dorian had shared a piece of highly personal information about himself in good will. Could Cullen justify not returning the favor? Not to mention that Dorian would likely tell the Inquisitor about this interaction. Would she even allow Cullen to explain? Or would she write him off as the mage hater she'd thought him to be in the beginning?

Dorian reached for the door handle, and Cullen broke.

"It's not because they're mages, Dorian. Not at all. I watched as they brought back many of my soldiers from the edge of death, and I'm grateful to them for sharing their skills. It's just... a healer would signify to others that I'm ill and I... people can't know."

Dorian paused, his hand resting on the door handle. When he faced the Commander once more, the mage's face betrayed his internal war between distrust and curiosity.

"That you _are_ ill?" he bit out. "You'll sacrifice your health because you're afraid it might affect morale? That's ridiculous. Call a healer. You'll be well before the general population even knows you were feeling out of sorts."

Cullen shook his head and spoke in a steady, even tone. "No. I won't. They could treat the symptoms but not the cause. When I begin to look ill again, even after a visit from the healers... I'm sure you can imagine."

He could see Dorian processing as he paced back to his perch on Cullen's desk. After a brief pause, he merely raised his brows and said quietly, "Yes. I see."

"I'm not interested in airing my private affairs in the public light. Cassandra is watching me and will remove me from my duties if I become incapable of serving. I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this to yourself."

"Of course, Commander. I wouldn't dream of betraying your privacy, especially as you have been so accommodating with my own. I would offer my services, but I'm afraid I as yet have a limited understanding of healing magic."

Cullen waved off his concern. "It makes no difference."

After a short pause, Dorian tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. "So... does our Inquisitor know about your... issues?"

"Yes, she is fully aware. She figured it out before I told her the details, actually. The Inquisitor has been providing me with medicinal herbs since Haven, which you saw her pass to me the morning she left. But I'm almost out. That is why today is so bad." _That and the overall worsening of the symptoms._

Dorian just hummed and fell into his own thoughts. Cullen took the opportunity to gingerly walk to his chair and sit down with a great exhalation. The comparative darkness of his office soothed the headache and nausea, but the blurred vision remained. He almost growled in frustration. How could he respond to the pile of reports covering his desk if he couldn't read them?

Then there was Dorian still leaning against the opposite side of his desk, dark brows furrowed in thought. The mage had turned out to be quite different from what Cullen presumed, and he could now see why the Inquisitor had taken to Dorian so quickly. In the last week of _mostly_ friendly chess matches, they had gradually talked more openly about their lives. He would never understand Tevinter culture, of that he was certain, but... perhaps this mage from the North was truly an ally. Regardless, he seemed in no hurry to leave Cullen alone. Was he worried? Or did he have more to say? The question brought to mind the mage's anger at Cullen's apparent distrust of the healers.

"You, uh... said something earlier, but I was too distracted... what did you mean by you could see what the Inquisitor was afraid of?"

"Ah, yes... something I shouldn't have said, I'm afraid. Not really my place. I told you about myself because that _is_ my business, but anything else... let's be honest, despite my love of antagonizing her, I'm really quite terrified of her potential retribution. Have you seen her fight, felt her oppressive aura? She is not to be trifled with on serious matters."

Cullen tried to think back to Haven and if he'd really witnessed her fight. He couldn't recall seeing her in action, but from the reports, he could imagine.

"From your tone, I assume you meant that she is afraid I am still ultimately against the mages. I won't lie, we disagree about many things. But she should know that I trust her. Why would I fully support her as our leader if I didn't?"

Dorian shook his head. "I can't say more, Commander. I've already said far more than I should."

Cullen looked at the other man warily, and the worm of jealousy that had been fairly well quashed after his first conversation with Dorian reappeared. She told Dorian things she didn't tell him. It was hard to bear, but at least he could take comfort in the fact that they were certainly no more than friends.

 _And what if they_ had _been more than friends? It wouldn't matter! You have no claim on her._

"I'm glad she has you to confide in, Dorian," was all he could manage.

Dorian chuckled. "Oh, I wouldn't say she _confides_ in me. You see, Varric and I have developed a system. We say outrageous things, figure out what makes her balk - or blush - and then make her talk about those things. She'd never bring them up on her own, but if she keeps everything bottled up, she'll no doubt explode one day. With as powerful as she is, that would be one mighty explosion, and I'd like to prevent that for multiple reasons, not the least of which being I could be nearby when it happens." Dorian gestured to his immaculately mustachioed face. "I'm too pretty to die, after all."

Cullen only snorted at that, so Dorian continued, "We've been so busy that we haven't had time to talk through her feelings about Redcliffe, but it's my next mission."

And with that, Cullen's jealousy faded into nonexistence. "I wouldn't worry about that, Dorian."

"Ahhhh," Dorian nodded, his eyes sparkling like one of his chain lightning spells. "So she talked to _you_ about it, then!" He furrowed his brows in suspicion. "I have a hard time seeing you as the 'pry it out of her' type."

Cullen smirked. "That's because I don't have to. She just tells me."

"Well, I wonder what makes _you_ so special?" Dorian quipped.

Dorian's smug look left Cullen with a sinking feeling in his gut - like he'd just revealed something he shouldn't have. He swallowed hard. _You started it by asking questions, remember?_ He had a flashback to a recent conversation with Captain Rylen and began to wonder if everyone in the Maker-forsaken keep knew about his unprofessional feelings toward their leader. Cullen had to admit, however, that Dorian had a point. If Dorian and Varric, her two closest friends, had to have a system to get her talk, perhaps there was something unique about how she interacted with him.

Reality quickly inserted itself, however, to remind him that a close friendship didn't mean she wanted anything more. Dorian's earlier slip of the tongue merely confirmed what Cullen already knew - the mage-templar war hung between himself and Ev- Lady Lavellan like an invisible barrier, allowing him to get close but not _too_ close. After all, why would a mage entangle herself with someone who once wished to leash mages like animals? His stomach turned a bit at that, but he pulled himself from his thoughts and back to the conversation at hand.

"We've known each other longer, I suppose," Cullen responded hesitantly.

Dorian shook his head. "Not any longer than she and Varric. And Varric has quite the advantage over you in that he spends weeks at a time with her truding through the primitive backwaters of Ferelden. No, there's something there, Commander, whether you want to admit it or not." Dorian looked him hard in the eye. "You should think about what that something is... and what you're going to do about it."

Cullen gave him a sour look. "It's not that simple, and you know it."

"Perhaps not. But if it were easy, everyone would have it, wouldn't they?"

"I-"

Cullen massaged his temples. Were they really having this conversation? He needed a distraction. Where were those damn messengers when you actually _wanted_ one?

"Dorian, despite the... _interesting_ turn of our conversation, I really must get back to work."

Dorian let out a disbelieving chuckle. "And what kind of work will you be doing in your condition?"

"Well, if you would be so kind as to read a few of the most important reports to me, I can at least begin thinking through strategies to address them. Unless you have other things to attend?"

"No, no, Commander. I and my numerous talents are at your service."

Dorian stepped away from the desk, flourishing his hand and giving Cullen a low bow. Cullen just sighed and pointed at the pile of new reports in the center of his desk. Dorian pulled up the extra chair he'd brought in for chess games and began sorting through the pile.

"Oh! A report from our illustrious leader! I'll start there first, if you don't mind."

Cullen leaned his head on the back of his chair, closed his eyes and grunted his agreement, careful to keep the nervous anticipation from his face. She never wrote anything remotely inappropriate, but the tone of her letters had grown more playful - more familiar - in the last few months. And consequently, he looked forward to her letters more and more.

Dorian thankfully kept his voice low as he began reading. Or paraphrasing, really.

"After meeting with Stroud and Hawke, she apparently claimed a Keep in Crestwood and thanks you for sending ... Ah, so you already knew about that one, I see. She also thanks you _'most fervently'_ -" Dorian emphasized the words, and Cullen opened one eye to see the mage waggle his eyebrows. "-for the news that her clan is safe for now... gives her best to Leliana... Hmmm... dealt with some bandits, drained a lake to expose the flooded part of Crestwood, found some caves, closed the lake rift, killed a rage demon, freed a spirit, gave the residents of old Crestwood a proper burial... Yada yada... currently thinks she's closed all the rifts in Crestwood, but is giving the scouts time to do one more sweep. Oh, and apparently the Mayor flooded the old town on purpose to kill everyone with the Blight, and she wants you to send people to search for him. He seems to have run away."

"The mayor flooded the town with people in it... on purpose?"

Cullen kept his eyes closed against the light, but he couldn't keep the disgust out of his voice. He'd lived through the Blight and knew the desperation of the times, but this...

Dorian flipped the page over. "Wait, here... there's more on the back..." He read through a couple of lines silently, and his voice dropped. "Oh dear..."

Cullen sat up instantly, eyes opening wide though his head protested at the sudden light and movement. "What? What is it?"

"Don't be alarmed, Commander, she says everyone came out of it relatively unscathed. Varric has a few deep cuts that will need to be healed, and she thinks she broke... oh my..."

Cullen reached across the desk and snatched the letter from Dorian's hands. Thankfully, his vision had cleared enough to read the paragraph himself.

_...now, don't be angry, Cullen, but we came across a dragon here in Crestwood that has been picking off livestock and even killed a villager or two..._

"Andraste preserve me!" he groaned as he continued reading.

_...Iron Bull seemed so excited, and I couldn't see any reason to risk the dragon harming any more people. We took some damage... Varric has a few deep cuts that will need healing when we get back, Blackwall and Iron Bull took some bruising blows under the dragon's feet, and I believe I may have a broken arm. Don't worry, it's not my rift-closing arm. Ha ha. The non-mage healer in Crestwood has set and wrapped it as best he can, and as soon as the scouts return with word that all the known rifts are closed, we'll head back to Skyhold._

_Not looking forward to the jostling of the horse on the way back, but I'll be glad to see everyone again. Oh, and I have a surprise for you! Aren't you curious now?_

_Mar falon,  
_ _Evana_

Cullen put his head in his hands and tried to just breathe. The pain in his head intensified, and a wave of nausea hit him hard.

_I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure._

She'd killed a high dragon. She'd actually faced down a giant creature of death and destruction and killed it. Taking an entire keep with just four people - granted, extensively trained and highly dangerous people - had been risky enough. Now this. The woman would be the death of him... if the lyrium withdrawal didn't kill him first.

"Shall I leave you to your reports, Commander?"

Cullen stood up slowly and looked out the small window behind him at the dimming afternoon light. It should be shaded enough now to be outside without much trouble, especially if they took the short cut through Solas' study and the great hall.

"I think I should take a walk - get some fresh air. When I first came in, you mentioned the garden. Shall we walk there, and you can tell me your thoughts on the gazebo?"

 

**

 

Several days later, Cullen let out a sigh of relief as he woke up with the worst of the episode behind him. The siren song of lyrium still danced in the back of his mind, but he could more easily resist when he felt like this - strong and useful. He spent most of the morning training with the officers in the upper courtyard, letting the more experienced soldiers see if they could beat him. None did, even when two tried to take him down at once.

Leliana had requested to review some things with him in the war room, so he climbed the stairs from the upper courtyard. Rolling his shoulders, Cullen relished the familiar sting of muscles sore from training as opposed to withdrawal tremors. As soon as he walked into the war room, Leliana handed him a report.

"The Inquisitor will be returning to Skyhold tonight. I have arranged for a spirit healer to be available for them in the great hall as soon as they arrive. She will likely need to rest a few days before her next mission, but I'm concerned about the news she sent us from Warden Stroud. She should meet him in the Western Approach as soon as possible."

Cullen read over the Inquisitor's report quickly and frowned. "If what Stroud says is true, if the Grey Wardens have truly joined forces with the Venatori, things have certainly gone awry with the Wardens. Captain Rylen's unit left Val Royeaux less than a week ago. Barring any further delays, it will be at least another week before they arrive in the Approach."

"I wonder if Josephine discovered what caused the delay in Val Royeaux," Leliana murmured.

"From Rylen's brief note, it seems to have been an honest miscommunication, but her man in Val Royeaux promised to elaborate when he arrives. Thank the Maker he happened to be there - not that Rylen couldn't have handled it... just made things much easier." Leliana nodded as he shuffled the Inquisitor's marker to the Western Approach and then turned his attention to eastern Orlais. "I'm also concerned about the reports of red lyrium caravans coming out of the Emerald Graves. Tracking those could lead us to Samson... and to Corypheus."

Leliana looked down at the war table with a frown, moving pieces around Orlais. "If it weren't for the urgency of the Grey Warden problem, I'd say we should send her to the Emerald Graves to meet with the illusive Fairbanks and see what the man knows. But as things stand, he can wait for her return trip." Pushing another marker over the Emerald Graves, she grimaced. "This will be a long mission with much traveling."

Cullen touched the marker in the Free Marches and added, "We'll need to make sure we talk with her about her clan as well. They will not remain safe in their current position forever."

"Yes," Leliana agreed. "Then there are the peace talks between the Empress and her cousin Gaspard to end the Orlesian civil war - we must begin preparing the Inquisitor for that soon, regardless of whether or not the Empress has set a date for the talks. If the Empress is to be assassinated, it will happen there."

They spoke of details and logistics for few more minutes before Cullen retreated to his office for another day of reports, messages, writing out orders and checking up on the progress of Skyhold reconstruction. The garden had been completed yesterday - at least, as much as could be completed. The healers, a few of them Dalish and most of them mages, had gleefully used every available piece of earth to plant herbs and medicinal flowers and now tended to them diligently. Even with the assistance of growing and warming magic, however, it would be several weeks before any real progress would be seen on that front. His only contribution had been to ensure a plot remained for the Inquisitor to plant whatever she might want. Dorian had also added a nice touch with a marble and stone chess table and matching chairs he'd found in a storage room in the basement below the great hall.

He felt a weight in his chest as he thought about showing her the space. When he first began the project, he'd been sure she'd approve, but now it was done, doubt crowded in. Would she be upset that he'd done it without her presence and direction? Would she understand why he'd done it? For that matter... did he? When cornered by Captain Rylen, Cullen had spouted off a litany of logistical reasons for giving the garden priority. And although he'd never say it out loud, he'd justified it in his head as a show of their appreciation for all she'd given up to be with them and to help the Inquisition.

But if he were being truly honest, he simply wanted to see her happy. Wanted to do something that would bring a smile to her lips. Maker, he'd spend the rest of his days making her happy if he could.

He gruffly shook off the useless and improper thoughts to focus on his work. The Inquisitor would be arriving soon, and he wanted his summary report to her to be as complete and concise as possible. The rest could wait.

Darkness had fallen around Skyhold when a small cry went up from the watch that the Inquisitor had returned. Cullen jumped up and took the middle door out of his office. Passing through Solas' study, he looked up at the elf on his scaffolding.

"The Inquisitor has arrived."

Solas stood and began climbing down from the scaffolding. Cullen walked into the great hall just as Varric and the Inquisitor, coming in from the back stairs, entered the hall as well. Solas walked up to her, greeting her with an elven phrase, which she answered, and led her to the healer waiting by the main door.

For his part, Cullen stood by the rotunda door and stared like an idiot. Maker, he'd missed her. The soft undulations of her voice reached into the deepest parts of him, soothing the ragged edges of anxiety and tension. He didn't even care that she spoke with Solas instead of him. In fact, right now, it was probably better that she didn't try to talk with him. He might not be able to form coherent sentences.

As she passed him on the way over to the healer, she looked at him and smiled - the same soft smile she'd left him with. He managed a bow and a return smile before she moved on to greet the healer. Despite her brave facade, exhaustion rolled off her in waves, and Cullen couldn't keep the concern from his face. Varric paused as he passed by.

"You look like someone died, Curly. Relax. Your Inquisitorialness, lauded bearer of the Anchor, is here and in one piece... mostly."

Varric patted him on the back as they watched the healer begin his work, and Cullen gave the dwarf a half smile in return. The healer cast a spell, and she slumped down in her chair a little bit. Taking her arm, the healer then ensured the bone had been set properly before beginning the healing process. It took some time, and Cullen watched as her grimace of pain gradually evened into a placid expression. She glanced over at him occasionally, and he tried to maintain an even expression himself, though the more he looked at her, the more concerned he became for her health. She looked positively worn out.

When the healer finished, he gave her a healing draught to address any remaining issues. She worked her arm free of the binding as she drank, testing her range of motion.

"The draught also contains herbs to help you sleep," the healer warned. "It will take effect in a few moments. You should go to your quarters."

"Oh!" She looked at the empty phial in her hands and then to the Commander. "But I need to speak with the Commander."

"Be quick," the man urged with a stern expression. "You won't be awake much longer."

The healer then moved to Varric, leaving her with Solas. Cullen stepped forward immediately.

"You wished to speak with me, Inquisitor?"

"Yes, Commander, I... would you walk me to my quarters? I just have a small matter to discuss." She turned to Solas, bowing slightly. "Ma serannas, lethallin."

Solas smiled and bowed as well, then returned to his office. She turned to reach for her saddle bags, but Cullen beat her to it, taking one in each hand. She smiled and began walking with him down the length of the hall.

"Aneth ara - hello, Cullen."

He swallowed hard. She was close enough that he could smell the dust from her journey and that soft, earthy scent that he connected solely with her.

"Inqui - my lady. How are you feeling?"

She looked down the hall and took a long breath. "Souveri." Then, glancing back at him, she translated, "Tired."

"Yes, and you should get to your quarters quickly. Whatever it is you need to tell me, I'm sure it can wait until you are rested."

"But that is why we're walking and talking," she said with a smile. "Besides, it will only take a moment. Have you been wondering about my surprise?"

Cullen's mind struggled to keep up as his eyes greedily swept over her face. Despite her fatigue, her eyes sparkled with excitement, and his heart thumped mightily at the sight. He waited until they'd passed through the door from the main hall and started down the long, torch-lined corridor before responding.

"Ah... I..." He cleared his throat and started again. "I was rather too preoccupied with the part where you _slayed a dragon_ to think on it at first." Her face fell slightly, and he rushed to add, "But I admit that after the shock of your letter wore away, I did wonder at it."

And he had, though he had no intention of revealing how many times he'd read over her letter in the past few days in an attempt to suss out some sort of deeper meaning behind the vague words.

Without looking up at him, she plucked one of her bags from his hand and flipped it open. He barely caught her voice, soft and tentative, as she began searching through the contents.

"You weren't... none of you were too terribly mad at me, were you? About the dragon?"

Cullen's brows shot up in surprise at the question. "Mad? No. Not... not mad." _Terrified, exasperated, maybe..._

She paused outside the door to her tower and looked up through her lashes, her hand still rummaging in her bag, and gave him a quizzical look. "Not mad... but something else? Disappointed?"

"Never," he replied quickly. He fought back a blush at the unguarded reply and diverted the conversation by opening the door and gesturing her through. "My lady, please, if the draught should take effect before you get to your room... I don't want to find you asleep on the stairs in the morning."

"Hmmmm?" The questioning glance dissolved into a dismissive shake of her head, though she did begin walking again. "Oh, no, I'm sure it won't take effect _that_ quickly. We're almost there, anyway."

She'd finished digging through the first bag, and unable to find what she was looking for, traded with him to start on the second. "I know it's in here somewhere... ahhh!"

Reaching deeply into the bag, she struggled a bit before pulling out a large and a smaller sack of something. Her tired eyes shone with delight in the torchlight, and her voice held an adorable undertone of excitement as she paused on a landing to raise up the bigger sack.

"I found this for you! It's the stronger headache medicine bark I was telling you about. I can't believe I found it this far south, but I gathered as much as I could while we were wandering about. I've also shown the scouts which trees they will need to harvest from so we can have more sent here to Skyhold. I'm going to try to make a draught for you with this-" She jostled the big sack before shoving it back in her bag. "But you can have this in the meantime."

She stepped forward to hand him the smaller pouch and stumbled a little, eyelids drooping. He quickly took the pouch, shoving it out of the way in his pocket to make sure he had a free hand should she need assistance.

"Oh, well... I suppose I should... get on up the stairs now..."

The dazed look in her eye worried him as she turned toward the final flight of stairs. Reaching out her hand as if to balance herself, she took a single step forward and then swayed dangerously. Cullen lunged forward, arm outstretched.

"My lady!"

She struggled to hold on to her bag, but the weight prove too much. It slipped from her fingers, landing on the floor with a thump as he caught her around the waist with his free arm. She leaned into him heavily, words slow and almost slurred, eyes barely open.

"I... I didn't think... it would take effect... so... so ... ... Ir... abelas... ma vhenan..."

And with that, she slumped against him, her head falling heavily onto his pauldron. He let her other bag fall from his grip and thud onto the landing with the first while his arms wrapped around her, holding her limp body against his protectively. Then, placing an arm under her legs, he easily lifted her lithe body.

Taking the remaining stairs slowly, Cullen savored the feel of her in his arms, of her head resting on his shoulder. It was the third time he'd carried her in this way, but this was the first time he'd felt as if she weren't in some kind of imminent danger. She'd returned from her journeys exhausted and needed sleep, but she'd come to no real harm in spite of his worries.

As he opened the last door and climbed the final set of stairs into the prepared, candle lit room, he had to give Josephine and Leliana credit. He'd only seen the bare bones of her quarters while they were still surveying the fortress, but now, soft and subtle yards of dark blue and purple curtains hung from the balcony windows and a giant rug covered most of the floor in its white-gray plushness. A matching bedspread and several blue and purple pillows decorated the enormous, four poster bed. Cheery flames licked at the fireplace, creating a warm, red-orange glow, and a tub full of water stood in the corner.

That would have to wait until morning.

He gently laid her down on the bed and hesitated. He should certainly take off her boots, but what about her armored coat? Starting with the easy option, he unlaced her boots and pulled them off. Then, sitting on the edge of her bed, he tried to work out the easiest way to remove the coat.

Taking off his gloves, he reached up to undo the clasps of her coat and then cursed himself as he watched his hands shake. _And you can't even blame it on the withdrawal right now._ He lightly worked the clasps open, touching her as little as possible.

"Now comes the hard part," he muttered under his breath.

She stirred at the sound of his voice. A small moan escaped her lips, and his heart stopped as she sucked in a breath and opened her eyes. They were glazed over but somehow still found him in the candlelight.

"Cullen... ma vhenan'ara."

Her voice wobbled with her medicated drowsiness, her words slurring slightly. Not that it made any difference. He didn't understand anything but his name. He repeated the phrase, which sounded similar to the one she'd uttered moments ago.

"Ma vhenan'ara."

She gave him a sloppy grin and reached for him, so he folded her hands into his and gazed at her while her eyes opened and closed lazily. The first part of the phrase she'd spoken in the hall had sounded a bit like an apology - both now as well as when he'd heard her say it in Haven. The second part eluded him, though it started with "ma," which he knew meant "my." Ma vhenan and ma vhenan'ara... Another type of endearment, maybe? Another way to say friend? He spoke the phrase back to her in hopes he'd sussed out the meaning well enough. He harbored no qualms about returning her term of endearment. Whatever it meant, he surely felt it a hundred times over.

"Ir abelas, ma vhenan. We have to get you out of your armor. I'm going to lift you up and take your arms out of the sleeves. OK?"

She nodded, and he slid his arm underneath her shoulders to help her sit up. Her head lolled to the side and then fell back. She'd passed out again.

After a bit of struggle involving him sitting on the bed and leaning her slumped, upright form against him, he managed to remove her arms from the sleeves then finally remove the armored coat. He stood, pulled the bedspread back as far as he could, then carefully lifted and deposited her under the covers.

As he leaned over the side of the bed and pulled the covers back up around her - before he could stop himself - he swept a hand across her forehead to push the long bangs away from her eyes. She slept peacefully even as his trembling fingertips lingered on her temple. Then, against his better judgment, he dragged those fingers down to the downy softness of her cheek, sucking in a shaky breath at the feelings evoked by the touch.

Dorian's words came back to him once again as he gazed at her. Did she care for him? Her actions and words seemed to indicate so, but was it just a close friendship to her... or could it be something more? The doubt crushed him. He knew what he felt for her, but what could he do about it? What _should_ he do about it?

And if she did care, could he truly deny her for the sake of focusing on the war? For the sake of the Inquisition? For Thedas?

The answer to that, too, had changed from only a few weeks ago. Before, he would have claimed duty as an excuse to push her away, but now, he wavered. It became harder to breath as his fingers gently traced the line of her vallaslin. A golden picture of her appeared before him, eyes shining, lips parted in words of affection, words of love. He tried to imagine denying her, telling her he did not care. Every part of him rebelled until his vision ended with whispered confessions and lips touching, tasting for the first time. His heart swelled at the thought, and in that moment, he knew: If she cared for him, even a little, he would forsake almost anything to be with her, to be able to love her.

Just then, she nuzzled her cheek into his hand with a soft sigh, and he pulled back as if he'd been burned. Reality crashed through his dreamy haze to reproach him for his liberties. Friendly affection did not translate into love. He had no right to think of her - to _touch_ her - in such a way.

_Get out, you fool! You don't belong here._

Swallowing hard, he grabbed his gloves and quickly backed away from her. After retrieving her saddlebags from the stairs, he returned the bags to her room and extinguished the candles on the desk and mantle. He took one last look at her sleeping form before snuffing the bedside candle and then rushed back down the stairs to the cold semi-privacy of his own loft.

_Yes. Go back where you belong - far away from the temptation of your impossible fantasy that a woman such as her could ever love a man like you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ir abelas = I'm sorry  
> Ma vhenan = my heart  
> Ma vhenan'ara = my heart's desire
> 
> [Chapter 3 of Truths Half Told Beget Lives Half Lived](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9047525/chapters/20749327) is timed somewhere around the beginning of this chapter.


	25. In which emotion threatens to overrule logic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter of floofy, fluffy, gut-rottingly sweet feelings and relationship building with a tiny dash of angst. And, of course, more revelations...

Evana walked into the great hall the next morning feeling refreshed after indulging in a late morning and a long bath. Her arm, finally pain free after days of wandering around Ferelden with it strapped to her side, swung naturally as she wandered down the hall. Despite the ridiculous amount of paperwork piled up on her desk, it felt good to be back in Skyhold.

A smile crept onto her lips as she noted how much had been done in her two weeks away. The great hall roof had been repaired, and scaffolding inside the hall indicated crews had begun work on the interior as well. She couldn't help wondering what other renovations had been completed in her absence, but before she could detour into the gardens, she heard Varric call out a greeting.

"Good morning, Snowflake!"

Varric sat at a table near the entrance where the healer had met them the night before. She waved as she approached and sat down with him for a moment.

"How are you this morning, Varric? I trust the healer did good work on you, too?"

"Right as rain, Snowflake. Much better after a good night's rest in a real, _dry_ bed, as I see is the case for you, too." His eyes floated down to her clothing and a brow quirked upward. "You're looking rather... feminine this morning."

He raised his twinkling eyes as he spoke, an unspoken jest in his tone, and she immediately regretted sitting down. She picked at a nonexistent piece of lint on her sleeve as a tinge of pink suffused her face. The form-fitting dress had been left out next to the tub along with a set of thick, cream-colored wool leggings and a prettily embossed pair of leather ankle boots. She had no doubt Josephine had purposefully commissioned the dress for its deep purple color and fashionable, intricate lacing up the front - all the better to impress the small-minded nobles.

The style, especially the V-cut neckline, made her a bit uncomfortable, but the soft, thick fabric did have one advantage over her previous clothing - warmth. She had no idea how to verbalize a response to Varric's observation, however, so she changed the subject instead.

"Ah... yes... I feel much better this morning. Are you writing out our adventures?"

Varric nodded. "I realized I've been waiting too long to write things down - details are getting fuzzy. I want to get it all down now before I start forgetting."

"If you need a refresher on anything, I'm sure Leliana would let you review the field reports."

"Nah. I mean, I'm probably going to elaborate a little for dramatic effect anyway, right?"

Evana laughed. "Sounds about right." She paused, and then changed the subject again. "Have you heard from Hawke since she and Stroud left for the Western Approach?"

"Leliana brought me a message this morning. They're avoiding main roads while traveling because the Grey Wardens are still hunting Stroud, so it'll take them some time to get there."

"It's just as well, because it may be a few days before we can leave for the Western Approach ourselves. It's a long journey..." Evana paused, thinking about her conversation with Josephine in Haven about reports of rifts in the Western Approach. It felt just as far away now as it had then. "I'm assuming you'll want to go."

"If Hawke's involved, I'll always want to go."

She smiled and nodded. "Well, anyway, I just wanted to see how you were."

Varric's face softened. "Thanks, Snowflake." He then nodded to the door behind him. "I think Solas is in his office if you wanted to talk with him about the healing spell thing."

She'd mentioned to Varric as they commiserated about their injuries in Crestwood that she probably ought to relearn healing magic. She and Solas hadn't practiced magic together since Haven, but she wanted to get back on a schedule here in Skyhold - anything to make this all feel more normal.

Learning from Solas... well, perhaps normal wasn't quite the word for it, but his magic and teaching style evoked a hazy familiarity that reminded her of Deshanna. Although she'd gotten to know some of the healer mages in the aftermath of Haven's destruction, she preferred his style over the regimented structure and methodology of the former Circle mages.

She couldn't deny that the vague connection to something of her old life also comforted her as her tasks and duties as the new Inquisitor continued to grow. At times, she still marveled that the advisors had chosen her to lead. They would be horrified to know how often she second guessed herself at the war table, especially concerning the political machinations about which she knew next to nothing.

_Just over here flying by the seat of my pants. Nothing to see._

"Oh? Right. Yes, I should talk with him now before I forget again. Time to relearn all those things Keeper tried to teach me years ago! If Josephine comes looking, let her know where I am?"

"Absolutely."

She stood up and walked through the door into Solas' study. He'd been working diligently on a mural that covered a large section of the rotunda wall, and he now wielded a thin brush as he worked on the delicate details. He didn't look down as she entered - likely used to people using the space as a pass-through to the library or Leliana's office. She took a moment to appreciate his work and then cleared her throat softly.

"Good morning, Solas."

"Good morning, lethallan," he replied immediately, his smooth voice offering no hint of surprise - as if he'd know she were there all along. He turned to look at her, his paint brush still hovering in the air above the mural. "Can I assist you in some way?"

"Now that we're all finally beginning to find a rhythm, I thought perhaps you and I could resume our lessons. Specifically, I was hoping you could refresh me on some healing spells. I'd also like to hear any thoughts you might have on Corypheus. We haven't had much time to discuss matters since Haven."

Solas' face softened slightly at her questioning look. "Of course. I would be happy to teach you what I know. Were you hoping to begin immediately?"

Evana looked back the way she came and contemplated. "The war council is convening in a few minutes, so I wouldn't want to disturb you for such a short..."

He carefully laid the brush aside and began climbing down. "It is no trouble."

When he reached the floor, he pulled a book from the stack on his desk and then walked over to a piece of furniture covered with a white cloth. Pulling the cloth aside to reveal his low couch, he motioned to her.

"Here, sit with me."

Curious, Evana walked over to sit with him. He placed the book in his lap and surprised her by taking her hands in his.

"When you cast healing spells, you are pulling from a similar place in the Fade as a barrier or other spirit magic. You simply need to learn the nuances of rejuvenating and life ward spells." He let his magic flow through her fingers in a small, controlled burst and then nodded down to the book in his lap. "You will also need to learn basic anatomy, especially if you wish to become truly adept at healing. I am surprised your Keeper did not teach you these things."  
  
Evana blushed hotly as she recalled her Keeper and Hanir trying over and over to get her to pay attention to healing magic. She remembered vague details, but after the attack, she'd only wanted to be able to defend her people.

"I fear I neglected to pay close attention to Keeper Deshanna's or Hanir's instructions in the more defensive magic abilities - much to their chagrin. I should've learned when I became First, but instead I focused solely on offensive magic."

Solas looked at her quizzically. "Hanir is another mage in your clan?"

Evana tensed. She'd never mentioned Hanir to Solas before. Why would she? It wasn't a topic she liked speaking about, and he'd never asked her about herself before. Usually she asked all the questions. She tried to relax and pushed back the urge to keep her past hidden away.

"Um... was. He was killed in a templar attack. He was the original First in our clan... and... my bondmate."

Evana took a deep breath. She'd managed to get through the entire thing with only a slight tremble. She watched Solas' face for a reaction and thought he looked a bit surprised.

"I did not realize you were..." His expression changed mid sentence. "I am sorry for your loss."  
  
She smiled and shrugged. "It was a long time ago, and I've recently... worked through some of the remaining hurts. As you might expect, constantly facing danger has made me less willing to hold onto old pain."

His expression morphed again, this time to understanding, but he remained quiet, perhaps in deference to her loss. The silence built, and the ever-present undercurrent of mage energy wrapped around them. In the frenzied stillness, she became intensely aware that he still held her hands within his own. Magic flowed over his skin, the familiarity bringing comfort but also a strange sense of... danger. With his cool, slender fingers wrapped firmly around hers, she could feel the sinuous strength behind every movement - nothing like the muscled warmth of Cullen's large, calloused hands.

Evana shook her head and felt the heat rise to her cheeks. _What a strange thought._

"What is it, lethallan?"

"It's nothing. Shall we begin?"

He tilted his head. "Of course."

For the next few minutes, she paid close attention as he took her through the details of casting a basic healing spell. "Once you master this spell, we can move on to more complicated spells."

She laughed. "But how will I practice? Shall I spend time with the soldiers as they train and ask them to let me try to heal their bumps and bruises as I learn healing spells?"

The corner of Solas' mouth quirked upward a fraction of an inch. "Just practice the movements I have shown you, read through the book and work on keeping your focus in check. Your focus in battle is..."

"Indomitable?"

She shouldn't have said it, even in jest, but something about sitting there with him, his hands cradling hers, his familiar magic surrounding and skimming over her own, made her brazen. Varric and Dorian must be rubbing off on her a little bit. Or perhaps this was a side effect of that newfound sense of belonging?

Solas cocked an eyebrow, a curious but ultimately unreadable expression on his face. "Quite. But you must continue working on your focus in the silent times as we did those days before we sealed the Breach. That is the best way to improve at spirit magic. You already know how to call your mana for barrier magic and calming spells. This is similar."

Just then, the door to Cullen's tower opened and the man himself walked through. She could see him squinting as he came in from the bright sunlight, and she quickly but gently pulled her hands away from Solas.

"Thank you, Solas. I'll be back tomorrow. Hopefully I'll have some time between now and then to practice my focus and do some reading."

Solas' face fell into a serene and emotionless mask as he handed her the book. He tilted his head at her, murmuring a farewell, and she got up from the couch. Cullen followed behind her as she walked back into the great hall, but once they cleared the doorway, Cullen fell in step beside her.

"Good morning, my lady."

How could a simple greeting give her goosebumps? Her pulse quickened as she took in his freshly shaven face and immaculately styled hair. He looked tired, but seemed to be in a good mood.

"Good morning, Cullen. I hope you slept well?"

"As well as possible. You?"

Evana tinged pink as she recalled the night before. "I'm... I apologize for inconveniencing you... again. I hope I wasn't too much of a burden."

"It was no inconvenience nor were you a burden." His lips curled into a half grin. "You barely weigh anything at all."

She smiled ruefully at him, but then looked away and shook her head. "I should have taken the healer's advice and gone immediately, but I was excited to show you what I'd found. Um... did I...?"

As she'd soaked in her extended bath that morning trying to recall the evening before, Evana had debated whether or not to ask him about what she might or might not have said. She vaguely remembered speaking something to him before passing out. There was also a strange, dream-like interchange...

"You did manage to pass off some of the medicine before you passed out, yes," Cullen supplied.

Equal parts disappointment and relief flooded through her at his misassumption. "Oh! Uh... good. Yes." She internally cringed at her awkwardness but pushed through it nonetheless. "I just... ma serranas for your help, yet again. I-" _Just say it! You said that highly inappropriate thing on the stairs a few weeks ago and didn't burst into flames._ "I don't know what I'd do without you, ma falon."

She felt adequately rewarded for her bravery as Cullen's entire face softened and that tender smile - the one that always made her go a little weak in the knees - made an appearance.

"It was my pleasure, my lady," he responded quietly.

They passed through the first door to Josephine's office and the war room, but he paused in the small hallway between the great hall and Josephine's office. He reached out to gently touch her upper arm, and she froze at his touch, a tingle of anticipation shooting through her. The single candle reflected the golden flecks in his eyes, and she once again considered how nice it would be to drown in their depths.

"My lady, after the council, there's something... something I'd like to show you. Would you happen to have a spare moment today?"

Her heart, already fluttering at his unexpected touch and his nearness, did a somersault. She worked diligently to control her breathing. Was this about the garden? He'd started work on it the day she left, so they could very well be finished by now.

"I always have time for you, Cullen," she responded in a low tone, encouraged by his positive reaction to her previous statement.

She heard him draw a breath, and his voice came out a little breathless as he replied, "Ma serannas."

A gratified smile curved her lips at his almost perfect pronunciation of the elven phrase. The smile faded, however, as he held her gaze, and a moment of silence passed between them before he finally dropped his hand from her arm and reached for the door. She felt as if she hadn't been breathing the whole time.

Maybe she hadn't.

When they entered, Josephine clapped her hands and hurried around her desk to survey the Inquisitor. She grabbed Evana's hand and twirled her slowly to get a good look at the whole outfit.

"Oh, it looks so pretty on you! I knew it would. The color brings out the violet in your eyes, and my, it fits you like a _glove_. Don't _you_ think so, Cullen?"

Josephine made her twirl around again for him, and Evana's cheeks heated as she watched Cullen's do the same. His voice was strained as he spoke.

"S-she is lovely, as always."

Josephine turned her back to Cullen and gave Evana a knowing smile, but Evana's cheeks only grew hotter. She looked down, not trusting herself to speak through her embarrassment. From his flustered tone, Cullen seemed to be having trouble as well.

"I... we should... we have things to... to discuss. Shall we?"  
  
He turned to the door near Josephine's desk and opened it, motioning them through to the hallway beyond, his jaw clenched and eyes looking everywhere but at her. Evana turned her gaze away and studiously avoided looking at him as she passed by, thankful that he would be behind them as they walked into the room. Leliana stood waiting for them in the war room and instantly sensed the tension.

"What did I miss?"

Evana and Cullen responded immediately and in unison, "Nothing!"

Josephine just laughed. "Oh, it was something alright!"

Evana silently fumed, irritated on her own as well as on Cullen's behalf. Josephine had left him with no choice but to respond in a complementary way. Granted, his assertion pleased her - he could have just as easily uttered a simple "yes" or "of course" - but it was clear the ambassador had done it to tease them both. Try as she might to contain it, Evana's annoyance seeped into her voice as she commenced the meeting.

"Shall we discuss _Inquisition_ business? That is what we're here for, correct?"

Josephine looked a little chagrined, and Leliana seemed surprised. Evana couldn't bring herself to look at Cullen, the embarrassment and frustration too fresh in her mind.

Cullen saved her even more embarrassment by diving right in to the meeting. Surprisingly, the rest of the meeting flowed quickly and smoothly, a testament to the professionalism of the people standing around the table. All of them but her, of course. She simply couldn't help making an ass of herself.

As they left the war room, each with their own set of tasks to attend, Cullen finally caught her eye. She acknowledged him with a head tilt, grateful her display hadn't put him off, and then huffed out a small sigh as she resigned herself to apologizing to Josephine. Before she could turn to the ambassador, however, Josephine called out to her.

"Inquisitor, may I have a word?"

Evana joined Josephine where she stood serenely in front of her desk. As Evana approached, however, the ambassador's normally steady gaze faltered.

"Inquisitor, I wish to beg your pardon for my earlier behavior. I didn't mean to put you in an uncomfortable spot."

Evana's brows rose in surprise. "Ma serannas. That means a lot. But I think I should be apologizing to _you_ for my harsh words and tone." She looked off to the side and sighed. "I don't... I don't respond well to teasing. I never have. But I want to be better. I know you need me to be better."

Josephine nodded, her face taking on a curious look. "You said before that you had trouble with your clan. Is that why?"

A stab of stubbornness, of unwillingness to talk about herself, caused Evana to pause. She knew the ambassador would be better prepared if she knew more about her Inquisitor, but Evana held those hurts so closely, she couldn't bear to let others see. Other than Deshanna, her confession to Cullen had been the first and only time she'd ever shared her failings. Even then, she'd had to force herself to tell him that story in the hopes of building some sort of bridge between them - the mage and the templar. She had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams, and for the first time, it occurred to her that perhaps holding herself so closely is what kept her from connecting with people in the first place. She had paused too long, however, and Josephine quickly backpedaled.

"Not that you need to tell me. I was simply curious. Please, let us-"

"It's alright. I..." She swallowed hard and allowed her eyes to flit over Josephine's placid face before settling on the desk. She reached out and began fiddling with the bookmark ribbon resting between the open pages of a book on Josephine's desk. "It wasn't so bad before... before the templars attacked us. I had a couple of friends from my childhood, one who had also apprenticed as a crafter and another who was a cousin on my father's side. But I was _different_ because my mother was _different_ , and the other children liked to tease. I... reacted poorly, which of course, made me even more of a target. I began avoiding them."

"After I became... after my magic appeared, though, the teasing turned into wary avoidance on their part as well." Evana let out a wry snicker and glanced at Josephine again before looking back to the ribbon. "No one wanted a fire ball hurled at their head. I focused on my magic and thought very little about it until I lost the few friends I did have in the templar attack. I focused solely on learning magic and lore with Deshanna after that."

Evana left out that her friends hadn't actually died. They'd merely blamed her for the mayhem and death and stopped talking to her.

"Oh, how awful," Josephine breathed. "My deepest sympathies, Inquisitor. How long ago was the attack?"

"Almost six years now. It's... the wounds have faded."

Josephine hummed in understanding. "So, you have been focused on your studies since then? No wonder you have such a strong handle on your magic. I didn't realize you... I am sorry I so blatantly embarrassed you with Cullen."

Evana shook her head. "It was more that... I guess... well, I'm assuming from your actions that you and Leliana have noticed a sort of..." She cleared her throat and looked up at the ceiling to delay speaking the words. "... a sort of... _something_ between me and the Commander?"

When she looked down again, Josephine merely nodded, her face a mask of sympathetic understanding. _Damn, she's good._

"Well, I guess it comes down to the fact that I'm really not sure of myself." Evana laughed derisively. "About much of anything, really. But with Cullen... there are so many complications. I don't know how he feels. Not really. But I do feel like... when we're together, I feel..."

She trailed off, barely willing to think the words and certainly not willing to say them out loud. Saying made it real. But Josephine's face broke into a giant grin anyway, her hands clasping in front of her in rapturous joy.

"Oh, are you in love with him?!"

Evana took a small step back, eyes opening wide as the words unlocked a flurry of conflicting emotion. Dorian had asked her the same question a few weeks ago, and apparently, the idea had taken root inside her, digging deep, thriving in her subconscious. Now, it burst forth from the recesses of her mind as a sprout of tender feelings, her heart singing in response. Reason and logic erupted into panic, and she nearly spluttered something incoherent and ran to hide herself away from the ambassador's hopeful expression. She remained planted, however, and fought back against the riot of feeling, calming herself enough to speak.

"I... I suppose I do... _care_ about him," she finally admitted in a dazed tone, her entire body burning red in one giant blush, "but even if it were love..." She quickly held up a hand at Josephine's sigh. "And I'm not saying it is. But if it were, love doesn't necessarily mean everyone lives happily ever after. Even if he... cares for me in return, we could make each other truly miserable in so many ways."

Josephine's head tilted in curiosity. "What do you mean?"

"We both have so much history with the mage and templar conflict. He's no longer a templar, but his sympathies certainly turn in that direction. What if he eventually resents me for being a mage? Or what if we decide to be together, and then I die on one of these crazy missions? I'm not invincible, and my streak of good luck could end at any moment. It's one thing to mutually pine from a distance, but to create a relationship - to voluntarily build something between us only to have one of us die in this battle... I don't know if he could take it. I don't know if _I_ could take it."

Josephine's face grew serious. "I hadn't really thought of it that way."

Evana hugged herself tightly. "I have. My death is a very real possibility."

"I suppose..."

"And though they might not care much about me, still... I have to think about my clan. I'm supposed to be their Keeper someday. To be with him, I would have to give it up - everything I've been working for my whole life. Forever. They would never accept a human, and I would be considered a traitor to my race. Being with him means I could _never_ go home. Despite the less than ideal circumstances, I... I'm not sure I'm ready for that."

Josephine looked stricken. "I had read something about that in one of the books I found on the Dalish, but I didn't know if it applied to your clan. That... that is a big decision."

"Yes. And yet..." She dropped her voice into a low murmur and closed her eyes, for once letting the new and tender feelings take over, "I so greatly admire his gentle heart and strong sense of rightness and duty. The way I feel about him, how comfortable I am just being in his company... I've never felt this way about anyone before. Then I think about his arms around me... and what it might feel like if he... if he kissed me..."

"And?" Josephine prompted after a short pause.

Evana opened her eyes, the red tinge intensifying as she looked at the ambassador, and once again encouraged herself to be brave.

"And I think it just might be worth it," she admitted in a whisper.

Josephine gave a little squeak of excitement, and Evana smiled ruefully. "So, that's why I'd like you and Leliana and... well, everyone else... to let us find our own way. If that happens, you have my permission to tease me... a _little bit_. I make no promises to be happy about it, though."

Josephine reached out, and Evana suddenly found herself enveloped in a great bear hug. Despite her surprise, Evana put her arms around the ambassador's waist and squeezed back. Had she... had she just made another friend? Perhaps sharing her thoughts wasn't such a bad thing after all.  
  
"Good luck, Inquisitor," Josephine said as she pulled away. "I have no doubt you will succeed at this as you have with everything else."

"Awkwardly and with copious amounts of incredible luck? Sounds about right. Have a good rest of your morning Josephine."

Feeling astonishingly light for such a heavy morning, Evana almost skipped into the great hall and then paused to look around. She found Cullen at the end of the room speaking with Varric. The dwarf waved to her, so she headed down to meet them, admiring the Commander's fine figure while simultaneously fighting to calm that strange riot of emotion still echoing in her thoughts and causing little tremors of excitement throughout her body.

"Ah, Snowflake!" Varric called as she neared their spot. "I forgot to mention when we talked earlier - we're having a bit of a celebration at the tavern tomorrow tonight. Everyone will be there. I've even convinced Curly here to take a ten minute break."

Evana glanced at Cullen, and he gave her nod and a wry smile. She couldn’t help smiling back.

"Oh, well, that sounds like... fun," she said carefully.

"We'd do it tonight, but The Iron Bull insists you have a drink or five with him of a very specific type of Qunari alcohol to celebrate killing a dragon together. That new bartender, Cabot, says it's supposed to be here tomorrow... so we're celebrating tomorrow."

"I'll be sure to stop by. Thank you, Varric."

"Don't mention it."

Varric winked at her and went back to writing, and Evana turned to find Cullen offering her his arm. She wondered at his brazenness in front of Varric. It must be pretty important to risk future torment from Varric Tethras.

_Please, let it be a garden!_ The kind of man who would build a woman a garden just because she mentioned she wanted one was a man worth all the risk...  
  
"My lady?"

Evana's heart quickened as she wrapped her hand around the crook of his elbow. She thrilled as she let her fingers graze lightly over his armor to grip at the embossed leather underneath.

"And where are we going, Ser Rutherford?"

"You'll see in a moment."  
  
He led her to the opposite door and opened it for her. This was certainly the way to the garden. Her breath quickened as she stepped into the hallway and turned to see Varric grinning at her like a fool before Cullen shut the door behind them. He walked forward to the second door, his face suddenly going serious.

"If it's not to your liking-"  
  
"I'm sure it's wonderful," she assured him quickly.

He smiled and opened the door with a little bow, motioning for her to go first. She passed through the door and gasped, her heart soaring at the sight before her.

The entire garden had been transformed from top to bottom. A functioning well with modern equipment sat in the center, and rows of sprouts popped up in small plots throughout. The edges retained a feeling of untamed wildness in spite of the thin, winding path that circled the perimeter of the space, over to the gazebo and then wove through the bushes and fruit trees. The gardeners had placed a few trellises to accommodate vegetables, herbs and flowers, and small tendrils of vines already wrapped around the bottoms. It was a work in progress - plants only grew so fast after all - but it was glorious nonetheless.

"Oh... Cullen!" she breathed, all the emotions she'd worked to contain breaking free once more. "It's... It's..."

"You like it then?" he asked in a tentative voice.

Her heart felt so full, she thought it might burst out of her chest. This man - who had armies at his command, campaigns to plan, troops to direct - had made her a garden. If she hadn't already known his generous spirit, it might have come as a surprise. As it was, she could only feel honored that he would do such a thing _for her_.

In a daze of gratitude and a dearth of coherent thought, she threw her arms around his neck and drew him down to place a firm kiss on his cheek. Then, pressing her cheek to his, she whispered in his ear, "It's _perfect_."

Pulling away, she caught him as he opened his eyes, a dazed look on his face. Her shyness came back to her in a rush, and she blushed hotly at her brash behavior.

"Ir abelas... I... I mean... ma serannas, Cullen. I know it wasn't a priority, but..." She turned to gesture to the garden. "This just makes me so happy."

"Ah... Good... Yes," he murmured distantly as he took a deep breath. After another moment, his eyes refocused, and he straightened himself. A deep flush bled into his cheeks, and he cleared his throat, glancing at her briefly before looking out over the garden. "I had hoped... uh... I thought you might enjoy it. I had them save one plot for you, so you might grow whatever you like. It's right here, in this corner. The gardeners assured me it's the best spot in the garden."

Doing her best to shove back her awkwardness, she wandered to the plot he'd indicated and fell to her knees to feel the soil. She'd never been too concerned with actual gardening at home because everything they needed grew wild in the forest around them. Here, the mountains were beautiful, but she had no place to remind her of home. Now she would, thanks to Cullen.

By the time she'd gathered herself, he seemed to have regained his composure as well. He gallantly offered her a hand up.

"Would you like the full tour, my lady?"

She extended her hand, and he pulled her up, placing her arm once again around his elbow. He toured her around the garden, his expression relaxed and easy as he showed her the different plots, the labels the mages had made for each row of herbs and vegetables, and Dorian's addition of a chessboard to the gazebo. He also pointed out benches placed in various spots, mostly near the flowering plots.

She sighed contentedly and smiled at him. "How can I ever begin to thank you for this? My mind feels more at peace already. The only thing that would make it better is a bed right here in the middle so I could sleep under the stars every night. Josephine would have a fit, though."

Cullen laughed. "That she would, and I would have to stringently remind you how unsafe it would be... then put a watch on you all night when you did it anyway."

You _could watch me all night._

She was aghast at how close she'd come to saying it out loud. _Slow down there, Evana! Remember how you told Josephine ten minutes ago that you weren't ready for this?_ Ignoring the heat coiling inside her, she released his arm and clasped her hands behind her back. Perhaps standing so close to him had affected her even more than she thought. She walked a little away from him to look over the garden and sighed softly before turning back to him.

"I wish I could stay here all day, but I have a mountain of reports to read and even more to write and... _Fenedhis!_ " She slapped her hand to her forehead, cursing her poor memory. "I was supposed to meet Cassandra in the upper courtyard after the war council for a sparring lesson! She's probably waiting for me now." She stepped closer to Cullen, and before she could over think it, she took his gloved hand in hers. "Ma serannas once again, ma falon, and a thousand times over. This is so lovely... I don't deserve such kindness."

He shook his head, and when he fixed his eyes on hers, they held that strange emotion in their depths - one that had become more common since their arrival at Skyhold. When he spoke, his tone carried with it an intensity that made her heart skip a beat.

"You deserve all this and more, my lady. I would... ..." He looked down at where their hands joined, and then raised his heated gaze to her face once more. "If I could... I would..."

"Commander! Message from Captain Rylen!"

_Interrupted._ The messenger ran toward them, and Cullen quickly dropped her hand to receive the missive. She wondered what he'd been about to say. Something sweet no doubt. Things had certainly shifted between them since she'd come back from Crestwood. She had a sudden suspicion that she owed Dorian for more than just her own revelation.

Cullen skimmed the message and then turned back to her, apologies written on his face and in his tone. "Urgent messages from the Approach, I'm afraid. You should meet with Cassandra. I'll review these and pass them on to you later today." He started to walk away, but before he'd taken two steps, he stopped, turned and gave her a lopsided grin. "I'm glad you like the garden."

Then he walked away to do his duty for the Inquisition. She supposed she should do the same. After all, mooning over her military commander wouldn't stop Corypheus. Groaning a little, she slinked reluctantly toward the upper courtyard. Time to get her ass handed to her by a Seeker who never pulled her punches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My head canon is that Skyhold has far more nooks and crannies than shown in the game, and also that the garden is much bigger than depicted (being an elven keep and all).
> 
> Next chapter is a fun one... from Cole's perspective!


	26. In which tugging tangled hurt leads to philosophical discussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole tries to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to be careful and considerate, be warned: Super vague reference to dubious consent near the beginning of the chapter.

Cole sat in the corner and listened. Once most of the injured from Haven had passed on or recovered, he'd found the upper floors of the tavern a good place to find the hurt. As people drank, their brains loosened the tight hold on hurt and let it sing louder. He could find it better, though the helping became harder if the person drank _too_ much.

He also wanted to be closer to Sera. She reeled in such circles, he thought he might never be able to catch hold and find a way to help, but being near her, he could see through the spinning hurt more clearly. Sometimes, she wanted to rip out the pain like she might an arrow festering in her flesh. Other times, she hugged it tight, shoving each cookie-shaped shard of pain deeper inside in an attempt to fill the emptiness. She made little sense to him. But few people made sense to him outside of the hurting and helping. He thought he might be able to help if she would trust in someone.

Along with Sera, the Iron Bull often sat downstairs nursing a drink, using loud laughter to cover up that he drank far less than anyone suspected. His mind presented a unique puzzle for Cole - bright flashes of memories that should cause hurt... _would_ cause hurt if they'd happened to others. But a dark filter dulled the flashes, refused to allow the hurt to hurt. It should be good, but the gauze covering the brilliancy of memory was not of his own making. That made it bad. Cole couldn't understand it any better than that.

There in the tavern, he hovered on the fringes of a thousand thoughts. He heard the hurt call out like pin pricks in his ears, light touching the mind, fingers pinching at his skin, threads of memories wafting and waiting to be caught, pulled, untangled.

The door opened downstairs, and he sensed her - or rather the anchor - as she entered the tavern. Murmurs of respectful greeting followed her as she crossed through the tavern to the Iron Bull. Eyes and thoughts also followed her, most honored, awed, but a few, bitter like gall, rose up to sully Cole's mind - _savage, slave, knife-ear, bet I could make the little rabbit scream if I bent her over-_

Cole cut off the thoughts to listen to her conversation with the Iron Bull. He mentioned drinking to dragons the following evening, unadulterated excitement and a bright flash of hacking, bloody joy bubbling through the hazy filter. She laughed. Cole liked her laugh - light and airy clouds, soft pillows of melody. She started up the steps.

He watched her walk around to Sera's door. The Inquisitor's hurt usually hid behind the brightness of the anchor, but today, he could hear her clearly. _Unsure. Scared of what it could mean. Hopeful. Have to stop thinking of him. Need a distraction_. From his perch, he heard Sera speaking a part of her hurt out loud.

"So, Inquisitor. It is Inquisitor, now, right? Remember that war we talked about stopping? Full of little baddies I can stick with little arrows? That's not a friggin' Archdemon, is it? Andraste, what'd I step in?"

"Andraste? Let me know what she says. I could use some clarification myself."

"It's swearing, not praying!" Sera exclaimed before adding in a small voice, "She doesn't answer. Not like she's supposed to." _Cold. Quiet. Too quiet. Death... can't think about it._ "I know what happened to you, or what everyone here thinks happened. It seems... I don't know what it seems." _Scary magic. Demons ... could she become an abomination?_

"The ancient thing trying to kill us seems pretty real."

"Don't get me started! Oh... wait. Too late, right? A magister who cracked the 'Black City'? It's a hazy dream, right? I mean, if it's _real_ real, then the seat of the Maker? Real thing. A seat needs a butt, so the Maker? Real thing. Fairy stories about the start and _end_ of the world? Real things. It's too far, innit?" _What is real?_

Evana's face screwed up into a perturbed moue. "You joined to help the 'little people' caught up in this. But do _you_ believe... or not?"

"In Andraste? Of course!"

"But you doubt what you're seeing and hearing?"

"It can't be _true_ true. Even fanatics don't want to be this right. Look, I have arrows. I can make this Coryphellus believe in those. Good enough?" Sera lowered her voice as if talking to herself. "Please be good enough."

"But... you like to have fun. The Inquisition seems like an odd fit. Why are you really here?"

"What do you mean?" _Does she see through me?_ "To help people."

"It's just starting to sound like you're looking for something more."

"More? Pfffttt..." _I'm transparent, like glass. She sees inside._ "Okay, fine. There's talk, and... I want to see."

"See what?"

"I don't know! I just... I've got all this Chantry stuff in my head, and it makes sense, right? But it's... fuzzy. I want to see if it's all _really_ real. I just don't know if I want to _really_ know. So, I'm selfish. It's all for me. Count yourself lucky, I guess."

"It's OK to doubt, Sera. I... I don't even know what _I_ believe anymore, so how would I know? Is there a Maker? Were the ancient Elven gods really gods, or were they mortal beings that we lesser creatures just came to worship? What does it even matter in the end, right? We're here. What's done is done."

 _Yes. That. Keep wading in that._ " _Now_ you're making sense! What I want is to get everything back to business as usual. A nice, simple system with simple problems. Helps me. Helps people. Helps you. In that order. For now."

"You're starting to _not_ sound completely crazy."

"I know? Scary, innit? So bring 'em on. But first, food. I'm starving."

Cole watched Sera take the Inquisitor's hand and lead her downstairs for supper while plaintive thoughts swirled around her in flurried snowflakes. _Sera is stronger than she looks. We need strength. Don't think of strong hands. Don't think of dying. Don't think of him..._

She thought of the Commander while he thought of her. Cole furrowed his brow, uncomprehending. They could speak, but they didn't. Fear, confusion, self-denial choking back words that could mend the deep fissures of their minds. The Commander's thoughts were not so harsh as the other templars - his song softer, gentler - but old hurts clung to him like the wounds healed and reopened time and again by his demon torturers. Where the demons left off, he took up ripping himself open to pour in anger and pain. However, as time marched onward, and despite the twisted lyrium lady's picking, the wounds healed. Only hideous scars now remained, eating at his sleep, eroding his confidence in his worthiness, the new him shamed by the him from before. Now, without the silver song to seep forgetfulness between the memories, the nightmares came and tormented him. _Afraid to fail her again. Death... dying... abomination... Afraid to lose her. Afraid the song will be too much. It whispers all the time now, even on good days. But she's coolness in heat. Water to slake the deepest thirst. Maker, I want her so badly._

"I should tell her. Untangle fear with wanted words." Cole whispered himself down to where the Inquisitor sat. "Hello."

"Oh! Cole, you scared me. What are you up to tonight?"

Cole trained ice blue eyes on violet blue. "He's afraid, too, but he wants it anyway. Dorian helped him see."

Sera screwed her face up, stuck her tongue out at Cole and then turned to the Inquisitor. "Um... what's it talking about?"

The Inquisitor turned red. "N-nothing. Cole, can we speak of this later, just the two of us?"

"Did I help?"

"I... well... yes, actually. But it's not something we should discuss just now. OK?"

Cole smiled and nodded. The tumult of her mind quieted. He'd helped.

"Do you want to sit with us, Cole?" she asked.

"Yes. I'd like to sit."

Cole sat down and looked directly at Sera. Sera groaned. _No no no no!_

"Why'd you let it sit with us?"

Embarrassment cut through the brightness. "Sera!"

"You don't have to be afraid, Sera," Cole tried to assure her. "I won't hurt you."

"Go away, weirdo."

"I won't stab you when you are looking somewhere else. I won't do that to your boots. Or that other thing to your arrows. I don't understand what that last thing is, but I won't do it either."

Sera turned to the Inquisitor, accusation in her head and on her face. "Why does it keep talking at me? You did this. Why doesn't it talk to you?"

"I thought the party wasn't until tomorrow," came a fourth voice. "Don't you know that no party is complete without me?"

Dorian took another chair and sat down next to Cole.

"Shite! I'm surrounded by demons and magic-y folk." Sera rounded on Cole. "And could you at least not stare _past_ my eyes? Creepy that."

"But you aren't your eyes. You live behind them."

Sera made a face. "See...? That right there, creepy! I'm out, Inky. You're on your own with this lot."

Sera grabbed her food and ran away to hide from fear. Cole would have to find another way to help her. Later. Right now Dorian's hurt drew his attention, bright and shining and tangled.

"Dorian, you said I could ask you questions."

Dorian sighed. "It's true. I did say that. But give me a moment. I need to get a chessboard so the Inquisitor can practice."

Dorian came back shortly with a board and set it up for a game. They started off, and within a few minutes Dorian took four pieces from the Inquisitor. Cole didn't know the rules, so he watched the pieces move as hurt flowed in and around him, tethered to this person or that. No one said anything. Once Cole figured out the game, however, he began giving the frustrated Inquisitor pointers.

"You should put the pretty black horse there."

Dorian made a noise of disbelief. "Are you helping her from what you can see in my mind?"

"No, I see other things in your mind." Cole turned to the man, picking up one thread out of the tangled mess of his hurt. "Why are you so angry at your father? He wants to help and you know he does, but--"

"I see you didn't forget after all." Dorian sighed. "I'm not certain I can explain it to you."

"You love him, but you're angry. They mix together, boiling in the belly until it kneads into a knot."

"Sometimes... sometimes love isn't enough, Cole."

"Enough what? Please explain, Dorian."

Dorian sighed again as he moved another piece on the board. "I was rather hoping I had."

Cole saw the pain, and he spoke it, trying to pull it out and make it hurt less. " _His face in the stands, watching as I pass the test. So proud there's tears in his eyes. Anything to make him happy. Anything._ Why isn't that true anymore?"

"Cole, this... is not the sort of discussion to have in a tavern. Please drop it."

Distress welled up inside Cole. "I'm hurting you. Words winding, wanting, wounding. You said I could ask."

Dorian finally turned his attention from the board and looked at Cole. "I know I did. The things you ask are just... very personal."

"But it hurts you. I want to help, but it's all tangled with the love. I can't tug it loose without tearing it. You hold him so tightly. You let it keep hurting, because you think hurting is who you are. Why would you do that?"

Dorian looked at the Inquisitor. "Can _you_ tell him to stop? Banish him back to the Fade or something!"

The Inquisitor smiled softly. A soothing smile. Cole wished she would always smile like that.

"Cole wants to help you," she countered. "Maybe you should let him."

Dorian sighed a third time, more heavily than before if possible. "Marvelous! Everyone's so helpful! Have you let him help _you_?"

Embarrassment again. Cole felt a little uncomfortable for some reason. He turned to Dorian and nodded.

"I told her about the Commander."

Dorian perked up immediately. "Oh? And what did you say about the Commander?"

The Inquisitor cut in. "Dorian, it's not appropriate..."  
  
"You just got a glimpse of my life that I didn't necessarily want to share. Turnabout is fair play."

The Inquisitor pressed her lips into a taut line, then nodded, face reddening further. "Cole simply said that the Commander was ... afraid... but he wanted it, too. And that you were the one to help him see."

Dorian cackled and smacked his leg, a joyful expression on his face. Cole liked the change from his previous sour mood. Perhaps Dorian liked to help, too, in his own way?

"Oh, did he now? It's good to know all that chess playing wasn't in vain. He is quite a formidable opponent, though. I believe we're tied on wins now."

She smiled, but turned to Cole. "Do you understand why it wasn't appropriate to say those things out loud, especially around other people, Cole?"  
  
Confusion clouded the words. Both their minds were more at ease since he'd shared the Commander's thoughts, but the Inquisitor told him it was bad.

"But I helped you both."

"But... when you do that, you rob people of the ability to say such things themselves. If Cullen were to say that to me now, it would have less impact because I already knew it. It would lessen a moment between us. Does that make more sense?"

"So..." Cole began slowly, "you'd rather hear the words from the person they belong to?"

"Yes. Most of the time. Unless that person has absolutely no intention of saying anything... but even then." She sighed, trying to shuffle thoughts around to make a picture for him. "You see, there's something that shifts in a person when they decide a thought should be shared, spoken out loud, with another person. It's significant. We all have a lot of thoughts that we'd never want shared because they are just thoughts we'd never dream of putting into action. But when I'm struggling with something, I have a choice to speak or not. When you speak our thoughts for us, it takes our choice away from us. It can be a good thing, but other times... I don't know. Dorian, you just had your relationship with your father laid before me. What are your thoughts?"

Dorian had been silent through the Inquisitor's speech, but his mind roiled. _Pain and relief... darkness and light... Is the knowing better than the not knowing?_ Doubt pushed in and muddled already muddy thoughts.

"I think you're right if the relationship is between two people who are likely to find their way eventually. For people who have no intention of reconciling - or are separated by great distances - I think Cole's gift could give some comfort at the very least and might even lead to a better outcome for both parties. Even though I'd rather not discuss these things in public, I wouldn't necessarily mind discussing them privately."

Cole nodded, catching a glimmer of understanding from the Inquisitor's words. Evana. His friend. A strange shift rippled through him, and the idea took on weight, solidifying a small piece of the circling, nebulous, ever-changing world inside his head. A thought... his _own_ thought. One with such weight now as he thought he might be able to hold on to it, place it on a shelf where he could come back to look at it. He turned to Evana with questioning tone.

"So... you're saying I _shouldn't_ tell the Commander how often you think of his hands - _large, warm, strong_ \- touching your body?"

Evana instantly became distressed. "No, Cole! Do NOT tell him that! Creators! I... I thought you couldn't read me like the others?"

"If your hurt is bright enough, it shines louder," Cole explained. "And you think that a lot."

Tears streamed down Dorian's face from his laughter. "Oh, you are more than hopeless..." He stopped laughing, wiped his eyes and gave her a lecherous look. "They are _very_ nice hands, though. Big and strong... and you know what they say about a man with big hands? I can tell you, anecdotally, it's true."

"Oh, shut it, Dorian," she said without much bite as she swatted at him playfully, her cheeks flaming. "Or I'll tell Cole to ask you more questions about your father."

Dorian quickly quieted down. "As you wish."

A random chuckle burst from Dorian here and there, but overall, the mage remained silent. They turned back to the game and continued to play until it was apparent to both of them that she would lose... again.

Evana's mind filled with a conversation. _Subterfuge. Can I lie to him? No. Upfront is better - can't bear to destroy the tentative trust. I won't trick him._

Yes. That could help. Cole stayed silent and let her speak it, though.

"Dorian, not to turn things so serious yet again, but speaking of your father... I had a conversation with Mother Giselle right before I came here. There's a letter you need to see."

"And this letter is from-?"

"From your father, yes."

Dorian leaned back in his chair, the game forgotten. Threads shuffled and shifted, pulling tighter in places, loosening in others. _Father. The word stifles and scrapes at me. Can I bear to see even just his written word?_

"And what does Magister Halward want, pray tell?"

"A meeting."

Dorian reached forward, his finger beckoning. "Show me the letter."

Evana reached into her pocket and pulled out the parchment, afraid of wicked wounds reopened. Trepidation coating his nerves like icy armor, Dorian grabbed the letter from her hands and read it, snorting as he reached the end.

"'I know my son'? What my father knows of me would barely fill a thimble." He threw the letter on the chessboard, scattering a few pieces. "This is so typical. I'm willing to bet this 'retainer' is a henchman hired to knock me over the head and drag me back to Tevinter."

Evana looked sympathetic, but the fear remained. "Or it could be the Venatori. Lure us somewhere remote, then ambush us."

Dorian tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Perhaps... although this does look like my father's penmanship. Or... could he have joined the Venatori? No... that can't... well, I suppose anything is possible."

He leaned forward, frustration etching his bones as it twisted the lines of his face. "I assume you've told me all this because you want me to go?"

Evana shrugged. "I think it might be good to see what's really going on. But I'll do whatever you choose."

Dorian gave a curt nod. "Alright, let's go. Let's meet this so-called 'family retainer.' If it's a trap, we escape and kill everyone! You're good at that. If it's not, I send the man back to my father with the message that he can stick his 'alarm' in his 'wit's end.'"

Relief flooded through her, carrying her mood higher. "OK! We'll leave before dawn the day after tomorrow, ride hard, talk with the retainer - or kill everyone, as you say - and then be back before anyone really notices we're gone. We can prepare for the Western Approach once we return to Skyhold."

"Hmmmm... that means we'll have to watch ourselves at the party tomorrow night... just like my father to ruin everything. I wonder how much he paid this retainer to wait around in case I showed? I guess we'll find out soon enough."

Evana laughed and then took a sobering breath. She gestured to the parchment on the table.

"Do you want to keep the letter?"

Dorian looked at it, his insides hot and stifled like a too tight collar. _Reading words - do they give more hope or more pain?_ Finally, he grabbed the letter, stuffed it in his pocket and then looked back to the board.

"I take it the game is finished?"

"I would have lost anyway, and I've _got_ to get some work done tonight. We have more nobles to meet with tomorrow." She grimaced, her insides folding in on themselves at the whispered slights she feared behind every cupped hand to rounded ear. "It almost has me convinced to meet with Madame de Fer, though I abhor her politicking. She could easily help Josephine with all these fat heads."

Dorian snorted. "Tell us how you really feel, darling."

"She's loyal to the Circles, you know? I mean the ones that treat mages like prisoners."

Dorian echoed Evana's grimace. "Well, everyone has problems, right? If she's a strong mage, use her to help the cause. You don't have to like her for her to be an asset. Like Blackwall."

"I don't _dislike_ Blackwall," Evana huffed. "I just don't _understand_ him. He reacts opposite of how I think he will every single time I speak with him."

"Which is why you don't speak with him?"

She shrugged, the discomfiting memory of one or two stilted conversations outside Haven rising up to fill her thoughts. _So abrupt. Left is right. Up is down. Intent of words mangled by misunderstanding._

"He doesn't seem to like my conversation anyway. He and Cassandra - and he and Sera for that matter - get along well enough. I can't be best friends with _everyone_."

"I should hope not!" Dorian exclaimed. "It's much more gratifying to be one of a select few of the Inquisitor's 'close, personal friends.'" They shared a smirk, and she rolled her eyes playfully. After a moment, Dorian added, "But to get back to the point, can you really afford to refuse help, no matter where it comes from?" _Like the help you took from this evil 'Vint._

"I suppose you're right," she muttered grudgingly, her mind also touching on the whispered words. _Knife-ear. Rabbit. Vint. Misfits, all of us._ "I'll think on it."

They stood from the table, heavy thoughts in their minds. But the hurt shone less brightly than before, and both of them seemed satisfied with the way things ended for now. Sometimes the deep hurts took time to untangle. And Cole was nothing if not patient.

He whispered away, the other two having forgot his presence completely. He felt another, stronger pull, now. The Commander's hurt shone bright like a beacon in the night. Cole needed to find a way to help him, too. That would be harder now that he couldn't talk about _her_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Cole head canon is that his humanity is not something that happened all at once when they try to bind him. His time outside the Fade has incrementally solidified his person, his character. Evana's direct conversation, Varric's treatment of him as a "kid" and his general inclusion in human dealings in the Inquisition further grow his aspects humanity to the point the amulet doesn't work... because he's begun holding on to things, remembering things. He's still a spirit, but gradually moving away from it naturally. The Inquisitor's actions after Adamant either confirm this or pull Cole back into more of a spirit, stripping him of much of the humanity he gained.


	27. In which stolen moments strengthen cords that bind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fluffy (and just a tiny bit sexy) Cullavellan.

Cullen had reviewed the preliminary reports from Captain Rylen, made additional notes to give context and sent them up to Lady Lavellan early in the afternoon via messenger. The soldiers and scouts had made excellent time, but they'd only just arrived in the Approach. No real reconnaissance had been done, so the report was relatively short. However, Rylen had confirmed several rifts on their way to the forward camp as well as a strong Venatori presence in the area.

Now, hours later, his eyes rose from the final unread report on his desk only to fall yet again on the box on the shelf. It had been on his mind all afternoon, his want for it scratching at the back of his brain. Just then, a messenger entered with a note, thankfully distracting him from his thoughts.

"I believe this is yours Commander... it's addressed to you."

"Who's it from?"

The messenger looked confused for a moment. "I don't... it was in my hand. I can't remember how it got there."

"Hand it over, then."

Cullen opened the message. The simple words were written in a shaky but tight handwriting.

_It sings to you, soft, silver-tongued, but you are stronger than the song. The quiet is your making._

"What the...?" He muttered under his breath. Then, seeing the messenger still standing there, he nodded to her. "Thank you. That will be all."

"No reply message, ser?"

"No. I wouldn't know where to begin, and you wouldn't know where to take it even if I did."

"Umm... right. Very good, ser."

The messenger left, and Cullen sat down, staring at the message. Somehow, he knew the note had come from Cole. Was the boy talking about... lyrium? Cole had a special ability to see into other's minds, but this was the first time the boy had said - or written, rather - anything to Cullen. He swallowed hard and walked over to the bookshelf. The ornate box, the one he'd received at eighteen to hold his philter and lyrium supply, sat there in plain sight. But more than that, it _sang_ to him. All day. All night.

_The quiet is your making._

Perhaps he shouldn't have it here? It made the good days a little rough and the bad days nearly unbearable to have it so close. It rankled to agree with a demon, but perhaps the spirit boy got it right this time. He should get rid of it.

_But what if I need it?_

The center door from the keep opened, and he turned guiltily away from the shelf.

"Commander?"

She had come to see him. He swallowed thickly and strode away from the shelf to his desk.

"It's just me here, my lady."

Her eyes held his until she'd walked to stand on the opposite side of his desk. "Good. I've got something for you."

As she approached, he could see her shoulders droop with exhaustion.

"It's late, my lady. You should be asleep."

"The same could be said of you."

He lifted a corner of his mouth in wry acknowledgement. "I suppose you're right. I was just about to put on some tea. Would you care you join me?"

She smiled and her eyes turned downward only for her to glance back up at him through her lashes. "I'd love to."

His heart lodged in his throat, leaving them in silence as he walked over to place the kettle on the fire and pulled two mugs from the mantle. It was silly the way he reacted to her presence. She made him feel like a restless teen all over again, a young boy infatuated with an elven mage. _But no_ , he reminded himself, _this is not infatuation_. The love he felt for the woman standing here with him cut so much deeper than anything he could have imagined at eighteen.

After returning to his office the previous evening, he'd spent a restless night running through every possible strategy and outcome in his head. Most scenarios favored keeping his mouth shut, even the ones in which he thought he was being immensely kind to himself, but still... He'd decided that when they defeated Corypheus - and if he got past the worst of his withdrawal - he would tell her how he felt. If she didn't want him, so be it. At least he would know. And if she chose someone else in the meantime, well... that would be his answer. For now, he would simply enjoy her company.

Turning back, he caught her watching him. A rosy hue colored her cheeks as she looked down at his desk, and the hope in his heart grew stronger. Her expression changed to puzzlement, however, and she looked away from the desk, an apologetic glint in her eye.

"I'm sorry - it's just there. I didn't mean to read it... but... Cole sent you a message?"

Cullen took a deep breath and walked back over to the desk. He should have thrown the parchment in the fire.

"It's nothing," he said in a clipped tone. "Or something. Who knows with that strange-"

Lady Lavellan shifted, still not looking at him, and he cut off after realizing he'd made her uncomfortable. Her voice held an edge of defensiveness as she spoke.

"I'm sure he only meant well... We talked a little bit earlier today... about not revealing people's thoughts... publicly. I'm glad he took it to heart."

Cullen cleared his throat, unsure what to say. "I... I see. Well, I suppose there's no real harm in it if... if it's done in private." He tilted his head, a conciliatory smile tugging at his lips as he watched her reaction. "One could even think of it as a puzzle, trying to decipher the boy's cryptic words."

She looked up with a small smile, and then focused on her hands, which seemed to be holding something.

"You said you had something for me?" he prompted, eager for a change in subject.

She sucked in a quick breath. "Oh! Yes, I finally got those draughts ready. I'm not sure how strong they are at this point... I might have let them extract a little too long while reading through reports."

She walked around his desk to hand him the bottles she'd been holding. She passed him a brown bottle first.

"This one is for your headaches and nausea. I think the two are related - if you let the headache get too bad, you'll get nauseated."

 _And blurred vision, and tremors, and body aches..._ He couldn't bring himself to tell her any of that - bad enough she knew of his weakness at all. He didn't want her pity.

"I think you'll only need a few drops. You can start small and then adjust as necessary. Same for this one." She passed off a green bottle. "It has an added medication for a calming effect - but without the sleepiness. It should help with any shakes or anxiety."

Cullen looked down, an uncomfortable pit forming in his gut. He carefully set the bottles on his desk before speaking.

"How- how did you know about... those symptoms?"

When he looked back at her, Lady Lavellan's face reflected her sheepishness. "I didn't, not really. I just asked Cassandra if she knew of any other symptoms you might be having based on previous experience. She gave me a long list, so I added what I knew might help - things like oakmoss and other restoratives. Do you... do you have any trouble with... hallucinations?"

Cullen shook his head, resigned to telling her what he must. "No... thank the Maker... just bad dreams. At least, so far. I would have to ask to be relieved if I ever got that bad. A man who can't tell fiction from reality has no business running an army." His voice turned a little sarcastic. "Cassandra has been doing a good job checking up on me, though, and apparently she has not seen reason to replace me, yet."

She smiled, but it subsided before reaching her eyes. Worry mixed with the exhaustion on her face, and he wasn't about to add to it by telling her how bad the cravings had become. Thank the Maker this had been a relatively good week. Cullen saw her sway a bit and automatically reached out to steady her with a hand on her shoulder. He then surprised himself by brazenly letting his hand slide down her arm to her hand. Their eyes locked as he pulled her to his chair.

"Please, sit down, my lady," he finally murmured. "You look as if you might fall over at any moment. Then I'd have to carry you to your quarters yet again."

His small joke caused her to blush prettily. She shook her head as she slumped down into his chair.

"We can't have that again, can we?"

Cullen chuckled on his way back to the fire to check the water. "It's no bother, really."

"Have you always been so accommodating to damsels in distress?"

Cullen walked back to the desk holding the kettle and laughed at the thought of her as a helpless damsel. Then he sobered at the thought of her in distress.

"I do what I can. Sometimes it feels like so little."

Thoughts of those he hadn't helped - those he'd hurt instead - rose up in his mind, but he pushed back on the memories. He would not waste this fleeting and precious time with her wrapped up inside his own head. He'd have time enough for that when she'd gone.

Her voice, small and delicate, wavered slightly as she responded, "It's not a little thing to the person you're helping."

In his peripheral vision, he saw her intently staring at him as he took off his gloves to open the small pouch. He poured the leaves and then the hot water into the mugs. Her eyes stayed riveted on him until he pulled his gloves back on. Suddenly, as if a spell had been broken, she looked up to his face a little wide-eyed. The pink tinge in her cheeks turned a shade darker. He gave a small laugh as he handed her a mug.

"Did you almost fall asleep there?"

"Oh, no... just distracted."

She cleared her throat and breathed in the earthy smell of the tea. He leaned his hip against his desk as a small silence filled the room while they waited for the tea to steep. She slouched back in the chair, and he saw her eyelids droop.

"You should get you back to your quarters before you start drinking that tea. I'm afraid you might fall over on the way, though... shall I... would you like me to walk with you?"

She simply nodded and, rising from the chair, started toward the door to the right of his desk. He gave her a questioning look.

"Solas looked so irritated at my interruption earlier... and it's a nice night for so late in the fall. I thought we might walk down through the courtyards and then up to the hall?"

It meant a longer walk, which he didn't mind at all. He could be with her that much longer. However, her weariness concerned him. As he followed her out the door and down the stairs into the lower courtyard, he couldn't help worrying over her health. Usually she rebounded from her travels relatively quickly, but she seemed to be dragging today even after a full night's sleep.

Once they reached the courtyard, he offered her his arm, and she took it. He could barely see her face in the dim torch-light, but he thought she smiled a little bit. He looked away as they strolled slowly through the courtyard. The quiet settled over him, and he turned to find her gazing at the sky.

"The stars shine through so clearly here, even with the moonlight," she began in a hushed tone. "When we wandered the hills and forests of the Green Dales, the trees blocked out much of the sky, but on fine summer nights, I would sneak into the woods, find the tallest tree in the forest and climb to the top, convinced I could touch those glimmering lights if only I could get high enough. Even long after I learned I'd never touch the stars, I would spend the night in the trees just wishing I were somewhere else."

Her voice descended into a whisper at the end, as if she were afraid someone might hear her confession. He looked up at the sky, pondering her words. Her clan life had not been kind in many ways, and he found himself feeling protective of her long-past hurts.

The familiar constellations shone down at him, reminding him of his own childhood dreams - dreams now dashed by the cruel twists of life. He mimicked her quiet tone as he responded.

"It seems we have that in common then. As a child, I also often snuck away to watch the night sky and dream of the great men and women who might be gazing upward as well. It made me feel that we were connected... that I could someday be as great as them."

"You are."

Unlike her whispered confession, the tone of her direct reply brooked no opposition. Cullen laughed awkwardly.

"The work we do here is essential, but I am only a small part of it. You are the one who risks so much for all of us."

"And I succeed because of you and a team of other advisors and companions who make sure I remain alive to close another rift. We may be flush with heroes here in Skyhold, but that doesn't mean you aren't one of them, Cullen Rutherford."

He felt himself blush at her praise and thanked the Maker for the dark night. "I... uh... thank you, my lady. You know... you will be considered a great hero of Thedas yourself after all this is over."

She let out a low hum. "If I live that long."

Cullen's heart plummeted. They had reached the upper courtyard, and he stopped suddenly, putting his hand over hers where it curled around his armor.

"You _will_."

His mind raced as he tried to read her face in the dim light of the courtyard torches. Did she often think of her own death? He supposed it was natural given how often she had to put herself in danger. But something in her tone told him it wasn't a passing thought - that she might be dwelling on it too much for her own good. Was that why she seemed ill? They had spoken of Redcliffe, but she still hadn't opened up about Haven - just dry facts in reports.

"You _will_ live because I... all these heroes around you will not _allow_ you to die."

She let out a nervous laugh. "I'm sorry. It's been a stressful day is all. Thank you for your reassurance. I'll try to stay more positive."

"If you ever need to talk about anything... anything at all..."

He trailed off when she smiled up at him and nodded, the torchlight twinkling in her eyes like the stars they'd admired moments ago. He held her gaze as long as he dared before continuing through the upper courtyard to the stairs. They walked up the stairs and through the great hall in silence, finally stopping again at the door to her tower. He watched her slim fingers retract from his arm to wrap firmly around the mug in her other hand and tried to keep the disappointment from his face at the loss of her touch. She stepped through the door but then turned back.

"Thank you again for the tea, Cullen. I'm sure it will be helpful. I... I've been sleeping more than usual lately, but I don't seem to feel rested." She shrugged. "I'm sure it's just the stress. Solas would tell me to meditate and focus on my own well-being."

Cullen recalled that she'd given him the last of her tea. Why had he not thought of that before?

"Have you been able to make more tea for yourself?"

"Yes. I made some today from the herbs I collected in Crestwood. I will make you more, too, before I leave for Redcliffe. I saw that you're low."

His brain caught on one word. "Redcliffe?"

"Oh... I was going to tell everyone tomorrow at the war table. I'm going to Redcliffe with Dorian on a personal errand. I don't want to speak of it more widely with anyone else, but... it's about his family. They are trying to get him to come back the Tevinter, I think. Either that, or it's Venatori."

He shook his head and couldn't help the mildly disapproving tone that slipped out with his words. "You are traveling to Redcliffe and back and then immediately heading off to the Western Approach? I think you should take some time to recover more fully from your recent injuries."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "And I think you should sleep more. Neither of us will likely get what we want, will we?"

At her good-natured challenge, Cullen could only laugh dryly. "No, I suppose not." He stepped back from her and bowed. "Goodnight, my lady."

She grinned and nodded in acknowledgement. "Goodnight, ma vhe-"

Her entire body froze, and her expression shifted instantly to a mixture of embarrassment and panic. She dropped her gaze to the floor, her breathing short and tense. Her glance flitted back to him briefly as she spoke in hurried, breathless tones.

"That is... goodnight, Cullen."

She closed the door quickly, and he was left to walk back to his office feeling a bit confused. He could tell that she had started to address him with the word she'd used last night, but her reaction to an apparent slip of the tongue gave him pause. It was definitely an endearment, and he would bet all his meager possessions that it didn't mean friend. He could try to find out what it meant on his own, but that would require asking someone... and they might want to know where he'd heard the word and why he cared.

No, he'd have to wait. But the flame of hope burned ever more brightly... even as the insidious undercurrent of doubt threatened to extinguish it.

 

**

 

The next day, they met in the war room briefly. Cullen caught her eyes as she walked in, radiant in the morning sun slitting through the war room windows. She wore a loose, cream-colored tunic and simple leather breeches, but she couldn't have looked more beautiful to him if she'd dressed in the finest Antivan silks. She smiled at him, and then her face turned neutral - time to talk business. After hearing her plan, the other advisors were also concerned that she would be getting little rest in the next few days, but she only laughed it off.

"I'll be fine. Dorian will be there, and if it makes you feel better, I'll take Cassandra and Bull, too."

They all agreed they'd feel much better with the two warriors going with her, but Leliana wasn't happy about not knowing the details. Lady Lavellan merely shrugged.

"It's not my story to tell."

The spymaster's eyes narrowed. If Cullen read that right, Dorian would be receiving a visit from their spymaster on the way back to her office.

They ended the meeting, and Leliana left immediately, leaving the other three to follow her at a less... intense pace. Cullen chuckled under his breath, exchanging a knowing look with Ev- Lady Lavellan. Their gazes locked for a moment, but her eyes quickly slid to Josephine, who walked at a leisurely pace in front of them. She glanced at him again, her hands locked behind her, shyness back in full force. Cullen marveled at the shift. She could be so confident in the war meetings...

Josephine turned to look at them and then focused on Lady Lavellan. "Don't forget. You must be changed and ready to meet with Lady Seryl and our other guests this afternoon. It is our first true afternoon party in Skyhold, and we must be dressed to impress."

Lady Lavellan sighed and quickened her pace a bit as they walked down the hall toward Josephine's office. She caught up with the ambassador and let out a small sigh again.

"Do I _have_ to wear that thing? It's so impractical... and uncomfortable. Couldn't we have at least made it more like typical mage robes?"

"It's the current fashion in Orlais. We must show that-"

"The rabbit can play nicely with the fatheads?" the Inquisitor supplied in a sharp tone.

Josephine startled slightly at the terminology and then sighed. Cullen furrowed his brows, suddenly and acutely aware of a myriad of things he'd allowed himself to forget in the sanctuary of the Inquisition. Namely, that Evana might be subject to racial slurs and epithets even as Inquisitor.

"I'm sorry," he interjected. "What are we talking about?"

As they passed into Josephine's office, she looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "If you'd like to know that, I suggest you come to the great hall this afternoon and find out."

Lady Lavellan's shoulders slumped, and her face melted into a pleading expression. "Josephine..."

"What? You may not like the style, but you are going to look _exquisite_! It's not my fault if everyone will want to admire you. Besides, Lady Seryl in particular will not take you seriously unless you are dressed the part. I know..." She paused, eyeing Lady Lavellan as if searching for just the right words. "I know you may think all this petty and beneath you, but I'm sorry to say appearances matter very much to Orlesian nobility. After Haven... we must secure alliances with as many nobles as will take note of us."

Evana groaned and turned the pleading look toward him. "Please, don't feel obligated..."

"Actually," Josephine cut in, "the more I think on it, it's an excellent idea. I'm sure Lady Seryl would appreciate a few details on how her assistance has benefitted the Inquisition. If we play our cards right, she might even be willing to assist us again. A visit from our handsome Commander would certainly go a long way in winning her favor."

Cullen looked back and forth between the two women. He'd already promised slices of his busy day to Dorian for a game of chess and to Varric later this evening for the celebration at the tavern. Now this. He bristled slightly at the intrusion into his duties as well as at Josephine's insinuation that he use his... looks to curry favor.

But as much as he hated the idea of spending any of his already precious time with the nobility, Josephine made a good point. Having lost everything at Haven, they could certainly use the equipment and sponsorship. Besides, if anyone dared insult the Inquisitor around him, he'd have a good excuse to throw a pompous noble out on his head. Josephine would be mortified if she knew exactly how much the thought pleased him.

"If my presence can secure us further assistance from Lady Seryl, I will be there."

 

**

 

The rest of the day, he alternately anticipated and dreaded the early afternoon meeting. At the appointed time, he walked up the stairs to the great hall. His nerves began to take hold, but he pushed them back and willed his heart to stay steady. He hated these things and hated meeting with nobility, but the idea of Eva- Lady Lavellan in an Orlesian dress intrigued him... He'd only seen her in elven robes the one time, and it was a vision he still carried with him.

As he approached, Josephine nodded at him and then turned to a cheery-looking older woman standing nearby. "Lady Seryl, it is my pleasure to introduce you to Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition's military forces."

Before she could speak, Cullen gave a stiff bow and recited his prepared speech. "Lady Seryl, so good of you to join us here at Skyhold. May I take the opportunity to thank you personally for your assistance?"

Lady Seryl blinked at his rigid mannerisms, but quickly regained her composure. He couldn't tell whether it was all an act or a genuine response. _It doesn't really matter, I suppose._

"Oh... of course. I'm sure you are _very_ welcome, Commander. I am _so pleased_ to make your acquaintance. I was alarmed to hear of the attack on Haven. Tell me, did the trebuchets help?"

Cullen had prepared ahead of time for a few eventualities of conversation revolving around the siege equipment, and thanked the Maker this had been one. "Many good men and women would have perished without your generous support of our cause. Without those trebuchets, I likely wouldn't be standing before you today."

"Oh, that would have been a disastrous loss for the Inquisition, I'm sure!" Lady Seryl exclaimed, sliding a bit nearer. "Indeed, losing a treasure like you would be devastating for all of Thedas. I am so _glad_ my equipment could be the one thing between you and an untimely demise!"

Cullen fought valiantly against a flush of embarrassment as well as the urgent desire to step away from the simpering noblewoman. He managed another formal bow and a detached tone as he responded.

"We are ever in your debt, my Lady."

The Lady seemed to be waiting for something more, but he'd finally run out of steam... and all this talk made him want to throw up a little bit. Josephine caught Cullen's eye and jumped in to ask Lady Seryl of her renovations to her summer home or some such nonsense. He gave an almost imperceptible nod of thanks, and she ever so slightly returned it. Thank the Maker for Joseph-

The door at the end of the hall opened, and his thoughts came to a screeching halt as she walked out in a cloud of fabric and lace. The fluffy white skirt flared out from her hips, creating a gauzy accent to the tight black bodice. Her silvery hair, which had grown considerably in the last few months, was slicked back into what he guessed to be a new and fashionable Orlesian style, leaving her neck and shoulders bare. Dark edges of kohl surrounded her eyes and a flush pink glossed her cheeks and lips. Cullen couldn't hold back the sharp intake of breath as he stared. She caught his gaze, and her pale skin flushed pink from her cheeks all the way to the soft swells peeking from her plunging neckline. His breath hitched, and he swallowed hard, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. So much for willing his nerves away.

Evana approached, and thanks to Josephine's distraction, Lady Seryl seemed not to notice his momentary paralysis for the praise she now espoused toward their Inquisitor. They all spoke for several more minutes, but Cullen couldn't keep his mind on anything but the vision before him. It was all he could do to keep his eyes from wandering to that vast swath of exposed skin. He focused on her face, but that meant he got caught up in her eyes - beautiful, deep, soulful eyes...

Josephine laid a hand on his shoulder, pulling him from his spiraling thoughts. "I'm sure you have places to be, Commander. Thank you for stopping by. You did... remarkably well."

"O-of course."

Damn his cursed stammering. He turned to Lady Seryl.

"Thank you again for your patronage, my lady."

The lady had a smug look on her face as she assured him, "It was _my_ pleasure."

With a hurried bow to Evana, he turned and left as quickly as his legs could carry him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sets us up nicely for a chess game, don't you think?
> 
> Also, side note: I refuse to believe there is no fireplace in Cullen's office. It's a _mountain_ fortress. Hence, Cullen with a fireplace in his office.


	28. In which luck favors the Commander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evana **finally** admits to some long-time-coming conclusions and then tries to work herself up to acting on them (with varying amounts of success).

As she wandered up the stairs and into her quarters, Evana absently tugged on the laces of her dress, her mind still full of _that look_ in Cullen's eyes. She marveled that he could fluster her with a mere glance, but considering her already constant awareness of his presence whenever they were together, it wasn't surprising she'd lost all ability for coherent thought under his steady gaze. And today, in the greatest of ironies, she'd almost felt naked in front of him thanks to the monstrosity of silk and tulle now surrounding her. She gave up on the laces, fell back on her bed with a whoosh of fabric and let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

She had never in her life felt this way before - so fully and distractingly _aware_ of someone else - and a seeping recognition of the power of such feelings brought about a different thought. If she had felt this kind of passionate draw toward anyone before, she never would have agreed to bond with Clan Lavellan's former First. She and Hanir had shared a mutual and distant respect, but they'd never come close to anything resembling this kind of feeling.

She had tried, of course, but Hanir had been physically distant from the beginning. Tinges shame and embarrassment lurked behind memories of the many times he'd turned away her advances during the first few months before and after their bonding. She'd quickly learned to stop trying. That shame followed her still, but her previous, loveless relationship now contrasted sharply with her ever-growing feelings for Cullen. What she felt for Cullen was... it was so...

_Is this what real love feels like?_

The thought touched her mind, and she startled as she realized she couldn't immediately dismiss the possibility that she'd fallen for an ex-templar, for a _human_. The deep current of feeling certainly consisted of more than the physical draw of his absolute maleness, though attraction of the unknown had been part of her initial infatuation. She admired his heart and his spirit, his kindness and his strength. Even in what she knew he considered his weaknesses, he sought to be strong, to endure. He worked himself ragged to make up for perceived past mistakes, to make every moment worthwhile. He would give up his own comfort in an instant to make sure others were taken care of and protected. He was truly a hero of epic proportions - at least he was to her and to the hundreds he'd kept safe at Haven.

Considerations for her clan rose up in her consciousness, but she shoved them back down. Much like her feelings for Cullen, the new desires for a life outside her clan had built up gradually, slowly replacing her duty to clan with that fulfilling sense of belonging and purpose with the Inquisition. The truth was there if she would see it - had been there for some time, actually.

She didn't _want_ to go back.

 _And hey, if we're sticking with this truthfulness thing, they probably don't want me back anyway_. The thought stung, a prick in the back of her mind. A pang of guilt followed, but the heavy weight that lifted from her mind at the admission made a far bigger impression. Going back to her clan would mean living a lie, shoving down the part of her that had blossomed with the Inquisition. She could no longer be what her clan wanted and, more importantly, no longer felt an inescapable burden to try, which left her free to pursue... _other_ paths.

Her thoughts returned to the man her clan would reject on principle and the gaze he'd pinned her with this afternoon. She had to admit the truth of what her friends said - he must at least find her attractive. Why would he give her such looks otherwise? Equal parts fear and exhilaration buzzed under her skin at the thought. He didn't even need to touch her. Her body reacted to his presence, his gaze and even his voice. A delicious shiver ran up her spine, and her breathing became uneven as she imagined his hands on her - _Creators, those hands_. Her eyes closed, and fingers ran across the tops of her breasts exposed by the low-cut dress as she imagined his strong hands caressing her skin.

She opened her eyes and sat up, shaking herself from the vision. He might find her attractive, but that didn't mean he cared for her. Cole had said Cullen wanted "it," but in her embarrassment, she hadn't bothered to clarify what that actually meant. Did Cullen merely want her body?

Although she had no qualms about the act itself, she couldn't handle a purely physical relationship. Not with Cullen. The feelings revealed by Dorian and nurtured by Josephine had already grown too strong, too resilient. Without her realizing, roots had stretched and burrowed into every part of her. Her desire for physical closeness branched not from simple lust but from a depth of feeling. Being with him would mean giving her heart over completely... cords becoming vines, twining her heart with his.

Until the templar tired of his mage lover, ripping out her feelings and leaving her bleeding from the inside. No, if she couldn't have all of him, they must simply continue on as friends. Better to let these feelings wither and die in the face of his indifference than have them ripped out of her, fully formed.

The calm offerings of logic and reason, usually a comfort to her, now rang hollow in the cavernous void of her thoughts, her normal confidence in her conclusions sucked into the blackness of her own doubt. A small voice rose up, cutting through her fear. _What if he truly cares? What if he wants more? A real relationship? What if that's the "it" Cole referred to?_ Dorian's words repeated in her head until she felt her mouth opening to speak them.

"I'll never know unless I ask."

The words echoed slightly as they bounced around her quarters, and a tight knot of fear twisted through her belly. But perhaps it _would_ be better to know one way or the other. If he didn't care for her, it would hurt, but not as much as if she let the feelings continue to grow and thrive in the seclusion of her mind. If he ripped them out now, she could grieve... and then mend.

She knew she wasn't quite ready to come right out and _say_ it. She'd need to work up to that. But she could ask him more personal questions and maybe reveal some of her own thoughts as well - how she relied on him, how he'd become important to her, how simply being in his presence grounded her and gave her strength. That meant spending more time together, but how would she ever manage it? They were both so busy, it felt as though they could only catch half moments here and there. If they'd still been at Haven, she'd have been working with Harritt, watching to see if Cullen looked her way. If he did - which he nearly always did - she would approach him on some pretense of asking his opinion on an Inquisition matter, and they would walk. It hadn't been a perfect system, but it had allowed her a few moments alone with her friend. Now, she didn't know how to get those moments back. Here in Skyhold, they were never alone and were constantly interrupted.

She felt a stab of guilt at her frustration. They were in a war, after all. All of this seemed petty in comparison. And yet...

She would have to make a concentrated effort. Dorian had told her this morning that he'd be playing chess with Cullen in the garden later in the afternoon. She wondered if they were there now. Afternoon exercises would be ending right about now.

Steeling herself to the idea of speaking to Cullen more directly, she reached for the dress laces again and finally pulled them loose enough to slide out of the poofy fabric. She wondered yet again how a dress could have so much fabric but cover so little. She pulled her pants back over her smallclothes, and backed up to her mirror, reaching around in an attempt to pull loose Leliana's strange concoction of corset laces at her back.

They wouldn't budge.

"You've got to be kidding me!" she grumbled to herself.

Considering the typical history of elves as servants and slaves, she'd never felt comfortable with servants of her own, so after the first few weeks in Haven, she'd sent them all away permanently to work in other areas of the Inquisition. Leliana had helped her dress earlier, lacing the corset with some type of intricate weaving of two separate laces the spymaster swore would best keep the corset tight and in place, but the other woman had been called away to business. Josephine was still entertaining the nobles. No way would she trust Sera with something like this. If Dorian were already playing chess with Cullen...

She sat back on the bed with a huff, trying to adjust the uncomfortably tight bodice. Reaching around again, she thought she'd managed to find an end to one of the strings and tugged.

Nothing.

"Keep the corset in place, eh, Leliana? Apparently, you weren't joking."

She reached over her head and grabbed at the top laces, but it felt like a hundred threads were coming out from the top of the corset. Had the spymaster knotted the damned thing to her with fifteen sets of laces?

Frustrated, she threw a loose tunic over the corset, bent over awkwardly to tie on her boots, and then headed downstairs. Perhaps Cassandra was available to assist her in removing the hateful undergarment. _A knife to sever the laces would do nicely._

She passed through the great hall on her way to the armory but couldn't help pausing at the garden door. In spite of her discomfort, she wavered.

"Yeah, they're in there," Varric offered from his regular seat near the door to Solas' office. "Dorian said you might stop by."

"I - uh - have something to do first. Have you seen Cassandra?"

Varric snorted. "The Seeker and I might be on speaking terms now, but I'd hardly say I'm in a position to be tracking her movements. Can it wait? With how bad Curly's been beating Dorian, I'm not sure they'll be there much longer."

Evana snickered. "Dorian said they were tied in wins."

"Maybe they were a few days ago, but Curly is a mean strategist. It doesn't take him long to learn your tricks - or in Dorian's case, your cheats - and get the upper hand."

Evana swallowed hard and thought of her interactions with Cullen.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much, Snowflake. It's just his competitive spirit showing."

Evana gave the dwarf a weak smile but headed through the door and into the garden anyway. She had already been by earlier that morning to plant a few seeds and direct the mages and other gardeners in the best plants to cultivate, so she merely looked at few additional things before tentatively approaching the two men in the gazebo. The mere sight of him made her heart begin to pound as she drew nearer. They were, of course, heckling each other. She couldn't sense any real ill will, though. Cullen's voice slid over her first, sending more chills down her back.

"Gloat all you like, I have this one."

"Are you _sassing_ me, Commander? I didn't know you had it in you!"

Cullen shook his head. "Why do I even- Inquisitor!"

She watched Cullen drop the piece he had just picked up and jump up when he saw her. Dorian looked like the cat that got the cream.

"Leaving, are you? Does this mean I win?"

Cullen looked at Dorian and then back at her before easing back into his seat. Evana tried to keep her nervousness at bay. She leaned against the column of the gazebo.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your game. Please, don't stop on my account."

Cullen nodded at her and turned back to Dorian. "Alright, your move."

Dorian took a piece and moved it confidently across the board. "You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You'll feel much better."

A smug grin erupted on Cullen's face as he took his turn. "Really? Because I just won, and I feel _fine_."

Evana hid a smile behind her hand as Dorian looked at the board in astonishment and then got up in a bit of a huff.

"Don't get smug. They'll be no living with you."

As he passed, Dorian put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a knowing look, then walked away. She turned back to find Cullen smiling at her.

"I should return to my duties as well... unless you would care for a game?"

He gestured to the now vacant seat, and she hesitated a moment. But only for a moment. The corset was tight, but not breathtakingly so. She could probably get through a game.

"Prepare the board, _Commander_."

Cullen pulled all the pieces back to the board and arranged them in their starting positions. She sat down in the chair Dorian had vacated, and then rolled her shoulders back. There would be no slouching this evening. She looked up to find Cullen watching her, a faintly puzzled look on his face. She wasn't about to let him know her discomfort, though.

"I must warn you," she began jovially, "I'm complete rubbish at this game. Dorian only taught me a few weeks ago, and I haven't had much time to practice, what with all the demons and rifts and such."

Cullen gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, _Inquisitor_. I won't be too hard on you."

He paused to take a turn then sat back as she contemplated hers. "As a child I played this with my sister. She would get this stuck up grin whenever she won, which was all the time. My brother and I practiced together for weeks. Ah... the look on her face the day I finally won. Between serving the templars and the Inquisition, I haven't seen them in years. I wonder if she still plays."

He laughed at the memory - a warm, rich laughter she'd only heard from him once or twice before. His face smoothed into a relaxed visage, and she marveled at how young he looked sitting there across from her. His family was clearly a soft spot for him. She wondered why she'd never really thought to ask before. She could make up for it now, though.

"You have siblings?"

"Two sisters and a brother."

She finally took her turn and looked up again. "Where are they now?"

"They moved to South Reach after the Blight. I do not write to them as often as I should. Ah, it's my turn."

Cullen moved another piece, and she tried hard to focus on what Dorian had taught her of the game. She sighed and put her hand on a piece. It was probably the wrong move. She looked up and caught his arched brow. _Definitely the wrong move._ She swallowed and set the piece down just one square over.

"As you can see, I really have no idea what I'm doing."

Cullen laughed. "For someone who's only played a few times, you're doing rather well. You'll need more practice to get up to speed with Dorian... or me."

"Not at all humble about your skill, I see?"

Cullen colored a little bit and reached up with his trademark hand to the back of his neck. "Well, I did practice a lot, as I said."

"With your brother, yes. I'm going to assume it was an older sister who would beat you all the time?"

Cullen's smiled softened. "Yes, Mia. She's the oldest, then me, then Branson, and finally my youngest sister, Rosalie. Mia would never fail to let Branson and I know that we were inferior to her great skill as... well, as a Rutherford, I guess. But she ended up being my biggest supporter."

"Oh?"

They had both made a few more moves, and Evana could sense rather than really understand that he was letting her mistakes pass.

"When I was eight, I told my family I wanted to become a templar. They laughed at first, but when I remained steadfast, Mia rallied the others and demanded they all help me train. I often wonder if I'd have become a templar at all without her help - without her confidence to bolster me."

"She sounds like a perfect elder sister, then."

He laughed. "Well, I don't know about _perfect_... but she always seems to find me, no matter how far away or... how bad I am at correspondence." Cullen sighed and then sat up a little straighter. "But that is enough about me... what about you? Any siblings?"

She shook her head. "My father died when I was very young, and my mother... well, I've already told you that I was a bit of a handful for her. She never seemed interested in anyone after father, so I remained an only child." She paused to consider before continuing in a softer tone. "I guess I never really _felt_ alone with the clan, as much as I might have wanted to _be_ alone. There were always other children around, though I kept to myself most of the time. But growing up in the clan is so different from what I've seen with the villages here in Ferelden. Groups of Dalish children are watched by all the adults. It's very... communal."

"So, you grew up with multiple parental figures?"

"You might say that. Once my mother apprenticed me, my free time was spent with Vash'an learning crafting. I suppose he became something of a father figure to me, though he had his own children to tend. Then when I was taken on as Second, I dedicated all my time to learning Elvhen lore and magic. My mother and I, we... grew apart."

Cullen's voice was low. "Ir abelas."

She took a deep breath and made her next move, smiling at him faintly. Then it struck her.

"Wait... you just said...?"

He looked a little bit sheepish. "It means 'I'm sorry,' correct? ... o-or was that not right? Did I say it wrong?"

She looked at him, astonishment written all over her face. "How...?"

"I just put it together. You said it to me once in Haven and then again..." The tinge in his cheeks darkened, his hand reaching again for his neck. "... then again as you passed out from the medication the night before last."

She swallowed, struggling to quiet her uneven breathing. _What else did I say that night?_ Her near slip as they'd said goodnight yesterday and the vague memory of elven endearments sliding over her hazy, medicated mind hinted at what she might've let slip. But her earlier resolve faltered. She couldn't bring herself to ask, to allow him to rip out her heart so soon. _Not ready. Small steps._

"Oh."

In the midst of her panic, it was all she could manage. His sheepishness faded, and a look of concern took its place.

"My apologies if I... I didn't mean to offend..."

"Oh, no! It doesn't offend me... or bother me... I mean..." She took a deep breath. "I mean it's nice to hear you speak it. And you didn't say it wrong. It was... rather good pronunciation, actually."

She couldn't make herself look up at him, so she only heard him utter a soft, "I'm glad."

She sat rigidly in her chair and wished she could hunch over the board to hide her face in her hands, but the corset made it impossible for her to do anything but sit up straight. This must be why Orlesian women had such amazing posture. It made her hate the thing even more.

What had they even been talking about before? Oh, right. Parents. _Let's get back to that._

"What of your parents? Are you close?"

Cullen shifted as he made another move. He was definitely letting her off easy. He probably could have won the game eight or nine times by now.

"Growing up, I was closer with my father than my mother. I am more like him - more reserved and serious. Mother was forceful but staunchly loyal. She and Mia got on like cats and dogs, mostly because they were so much alike. Both of them... died in the Blight."

She closed her eyes and cursed her stupidity. Of course they had, that's why he hadn't mentioned them before. It was her turn to be sorry now.

"Oh, Cullen. Ir abelas, ma falon."

He looked up with a strange expression on his face. His voice was a little low, but not strained. "It's alright, my lady. I - I had not seen them since I joined the Order, so..."

"It doesn't mean you didn't love them."

"Yes, they believed in me - mostly because of Mia - but I could see the sadness in my mother's eyes as she left me with the templars. It makes me wish I had been more..." He shrugged. "I don't know... more present with them while I had the time."

She nodded. "Makes you want to treasure moments you have with the people you care about. You never know what will happen to take that away."

Cullen nodded and smiled a little, but the concerned look returned, now for a completely different reason. She knew she was beginning to sound morbid again, so she smiled back and made another move. He raised an eyebrow and nodded appreciatively.

"Not bad, my lady. That was actually-"

"A decent move? Yes, I'm allowed one per game, I think."

Cullen laughed. "This may be the longest we've gone without discussing the Inquisition, or related matters. To be honest, I appreciate the distraction."

He countered her move with ease and then looked up to catch her gaze. She moved another piece absently, but she wasn't paying attention to the game anymore. His eyes dropped from hers to settle on her mouth, and she couldn't seem to stop her tongue from darting out quickly to moisten her lips, biting her bottom lip ever so slightly. Oh, this was feeling familiar. His eyes rose to hers once more and held her there. Perhaps they could have a bit of time to themselves after all, even here in Skyhold where it felt like the whole world watched their every move. She grasped at the thought, and her voice came out far more confident than she felt.

"We should spend more time together, then."

Cullen looked a bit surprised, but the shy smile on his lips betrayed his answer before he could speak the words. "I... would like that."

He still held her gaze, and she suddenly had no idea what she was saying anymore. "Me too."

Cullen laughed softly and ducked his head, finally breaking eye contact. When he spoke again, his voice carried an undercurrent of nervous amusement as he looked back up at her and held her gaze a moment more.

"Yes, you said that. We should finish our game, right? My turn?"

"Um - yes, I believe so."

After a few moments of nervousness, their normal comfortable silence returned as they made final moves. She was playing so badly, he couldn't seem to draw out the game any longer.

"Checkmate." He even had the courtesy to look a little sorry for it. "This one's mine."

She had played awfully, but still, she sighed dramatically and responded, "It seems luck favored you today."

Cullen smirked and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. "So it has."

Evana dropped her gaze as she caught that his words might have a double meaning, feeling the rush of heat in her face. Would she ever _not_ blush in his presence? Suddenly, an urgent desire to escape before she embarrassed herself further crashed over her.

"I - umm... I need to find Cassandra for a... project."

She shifted in her seat again, ready to bolt, but Cullen finally seemed to hone in on her posture. His brows furrowed.  
  
"Are you alright, my lady?"

 _Dammit!_ "Yes, yes, of course, I'm just having a bit of difficulty with the Orlesian... dress... bits. Nothing to concern yourself with, I assure you."

"Orlesian dress bits?" The smirk on Cullen's face grew wider as he cocked an eyebrow. "You sound like Sera."

Oh, yes, he was feeling very good about himself right now. She shifted again and finally stood up. In her flustered distraction, words spilled out before she could think better of them.

"Yes. Leliana seems to have put knots in the laces of... of the corset. I couldn't... loosen them myself. So, I need to find Cassandra."

Cullen raised his eyebrows, this time in surprise. "You mean you've been sitting there uncomfortable this whole time? Why didn't you say something?" He stood up and beckoned her to him. "Here, let me help you."

She looked up at him in surprise, her heart leaping in elation even as her cheeks flushed in renewed embarrassment. "Would you... um... would that be ok?"

Cullen looked around. It was the dinner hour, and they were alone in the garden.

"No one is here. I can at least loosen the knots. Then you can go back to your quarters to..." He cleared his throat, his own face tingeing pink. "... to change," he finished lamely.

Without giving herself a chance to think about it, she turned around and swept the back of her tunic up over her head. She left her arms in the sleeves and held tightly to the front of the tunic.

"There are laces at the top and the bottom, I think. If I remember the tugging correctly, anyway. If you could untie them both...?"

She heard him breathe in. It sounded ragged. His gloves appeared on the chessboard beside her, and despite her attempt at composure, her skin began to hum with anticipation. She fought to keep her own breathing even as he tugged on the laces at the top of the corset. The backs of his fingers lightly skimmed over her rapidly heating skin as he twisted the knot in an attempt to loosen it. His touch added fire to the flame.

"Sweet Maker, Leliana, what did you _do_?" he muttered under his breath.

She could relate to the sentiment. She was officially a mess all because their damn spymaster couldn't just tie a normal bow like everyone else. Then, she felt his fingers pause. He spoke quietly into her ear, his breath caressing the point, and she had to clench every muscle in her back to contain the shiver of delight.

"I'm sorry, but I need a different angle..."

She gave a tiny gasp as she felt the whole back of his hand reach down into her corset to grab onto the fabric. He tried to pull it away from her skin, but the corset was too tight. She closed her eyes and reveled in the feel of his warm hand against her back. Heart already pounding, she could feel the heat in her skin intensify as the color rose up from her heart and across her pale shoulders. After another excruciating moment, she heard him give a little "ha!" before removing his hand to fully loosen the knot.

"There's one. For the second, I think..."

She looked back at him and took in the noticeable flush on his face. At least she wasn't the only one. He sat down in the chair and gently touched his fingertips to her hips, guiding her back one more step so he could reach the lower knot. Creators, his hands on her back, now on her hips, fingers skimming over her. The now familiar ache throbbed in her gut, and one knee buckled. She barely caught herself by twisting and placing both hands on the chess table, and his hands wrapped around her hips to help stabilize her. _Creators preserve me! If the man only knew what he was doing to me..._

With her arms down, the shirt slid easily off her arms and down to where her hands rested on the chessboard.

"Creators! Sorry!"

"Maker's breath! I shouldn't have..."

They apologized to each other simultaneously as his hands jerked back from her hips, and she grabbed frantically for the shirt. She whipped it over her head and then lifted it the barest amount to reveal the bottom knot.

"There, that... I mean, you should still be able-"

"Yes, that's just fine," he responded hoarsely.

She glanced over her shoulder to see him staring fixedly on the knot. When his fingers ghosted under the bottom of the corset, she closed her eyes and nearly moaned. One hand reached out for the chessboard again as another wave of desire pulsed through her.

"This one's not as tight... there."

He undid the knot then immediately stood up. Dropping the tunic, she slowly turned in place to look up at him. As she expected, his eyes were filled with same emotion - the same look - she'd seen swirling in their depths earlier that day.

She _didn't_ expect the hand that ghosted over her hip as he stood there staring at her. The hand dropped again almost immediately, proving the action an instinctive rather than deliberate movement. He tinged red but never broke eye contact.

Oh, yes. Things had most definitely shifted. Standing there with him in the twilight, gazing into his eyes, she could almost believe he cared for her. She could barely breathe as she spoke.

"Ma serannas. I appreciate your help. Umm... I'll see you later tonight? At the Herald's Rest?"

He smiled slowly. "I wouldn't miss it."

After another moment, she turned and walked away, daring to put a tiny bit more sway into her hips than usual. As she stopped to open the door into the great hall, she looked back to see him watching her from the gazebo and absently picking up the chess pieces off the board. A thrill ran through her as she slowly passed through the door and closed it behind her.

She _would_ be brave tonight, even if it required a little false courage to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. It's cliche. It's trope-y. I don't care. I DON'T CARE. ALL THE FLUFF!!!
> 
> :)
> 
> Next up, I hope you're excited to see things from the Iron Bull's perspective.


	29. In which a single eye sees all (and eye patches are cool)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Iron Bull gets the Inquisitor drunk while celebrating killing their first dragon.
> 
> The Inquisitor is a fun drunk... until she's not (and suddenly becomes _emphatic_ about things).

The Iron Bull held the bottle with reverence and popped the cork. He poured a few drops into his glass, and a single whiff of the acrid scent instantly transported him to a handful of other evenings in which he'd enjoyed this particular liquor. Most were _very_ good memories. Sucking down the liquid, he poured another glass - a full shot this time.

"I thought you were waiting to drink that with the Inquisitor?"

Varric climbed up to sit next to Bull at the bar and ordered a mug of ale, a knowing twinkle glinting in the dwarf's eye.

"I _am_ going to drink it with her. But you know how tiny she is. If she really shared half this with me, she'd die. Then Red would kill me in my sleep."

Varric nodded and raised the mug Cabot unceremoniously plopped in front of him. "Yup. Sounds like something our spymaster would do. Well, here's to not killing our Inquisitor."

A voice chimed in behind them. "I'll drink to that!"

The Iron Bull turned to see the Inquisitor standing behind them. "Come then and have a drink!"

Varric grabbed his mug of ale and vacated the stool, motioning to her to have his seat as he wandered toward the back of the tavern. Bull poured her a drink.

"To killing a high dragon like warriors of legend!"

The Inquisitor smelled her drink and looked a little nervous. "And what is it that I'm drinking?"

"Maraas-lok."

"And... what does that mean?"

The Iron Bull simply lifted his glass to her and replied, "It means drink!"

At first, he didn't think she would, but after eyeing the contents of the mug warily for moment, she finally shrugged her shoulders and downed the liquor in one swig. She immediately started choking. The Iron Bull laughed and gently patted her on the back.

"I know, right? Puts some chest on your chest."

She wheezed and tried to smile but just started coughing. Bull took another drink and waited for her breathing to even out. In the relative quiet, the memory of their fight with the dragon sharpened in his mind, and when she'd collected herself, he continued.

"Mmmmmm... that little gurgle before the dragon spat fire. And that roar. What I wouldn't give to roar like that. They way the ground shook when it landed. The smell of the fires burning... Taarsidath-an halsaam. You know, Qunari hold dragons sacred? Well... as much as we hold anything sacred."

_Enough talk, more drink._ He filled her glass again.

"Here. Your turn."

She looked down into the glass and then turned to him, a little wide-eyed. He held in a laugh as he watched her struggle to maintain her normal façade. The drink had already begun its work, and she looked a bit like a startled hart, frozen in place. _Time for the Inquisitor to loosen up_.

However, she asked a question instead of drinking again. "That thing you just said. You shouted it during the fight, too. What does it mean?"

He smirked. "Oh, taarsidath-an halsaam? The closest translation would be, 'I will bring myself sexual pleasure later, while thinking about this with great respect.'"

The look on her face was priceless. A becoming blush spread across her cheeks, and she stared down into the drink, clearly embarrassed. As always, Bull marveled at her genuine shift in emotion. Despite his people's views on mages, he respected her highly for her skill as a mage, and she was clearly a good leader, or the advisors would never have made her the Inquisitor. She also had a knack for pegging people's personalities and flaws. But this shyness baffled him. How could she be so commanding on a battlefield, but so damn awkward at a bar?

"You - you shouted that while it was breathing fire at us?" she finally managed after a long pause.

"I know, right?"

Bull let out a grunt of satisfaction. She stared into the drink for a moment more and then swallowed it down, choking a little less this time. The Iron Bull slapped his hand down on the bar.

"Yeees! The second cup's easier. Most of the nerves in your throat are dead after the first one."

"Ahhh... lovely," she responded, her voice hoarse from the sting of the liquor.

They sat at the bar a few more minutes, taking in the atmosphere of the tavern. He could appreciate that about her - no need for small talk to fill a silence. She swayed slightly before righting herself, and Bull took a few more healthy swigs. Finally, he felt a satisfying buzz wash over him and his thoughts turned back to the dragon.

"Ataashi. 'The Glorious Ones.' That's our word for them. Ataaaassshiiiii."

"Why do you think the Qunari think of dragons that way?"

Always the curious one, she was. "Well, you know how we have horns? We kind of look more... dragon-y than most people. Maybe it's that. But a few of the Ben-Hassrath have this crazy old theory. See, the Tamassrans control who we mate with. They breed us for jobs like you'd breed dogs or horses. What if they mixed in some dragon a long time ago? Maybe drinking the blood. Maybe magic. I don't know. But something in that dragon we killed... _spoke_ to me."

She squinted at him and swayed again on her stool. "When you put it like that, I'm worried I killed one of your gods or something!"

She was getting bolder. A little false courage had loosened her up nicely.

"Nah. One of Tevinter's gods maybe. They worshipped dragons, right? Kill the shit out of them all you like. Dragons are the embodiment of raw power, but it's all uncontrolled, savage... so they need to be destroyed. Taming the wild. Order out of chaos."

"You came up with the name The Iron Bull, right?"

"Yep."

"Sounds like you should have called yourself The Iron Dragon."

"Oh. Shit. That _would_ have been better." He shrugged and poured them both another. "Too late now. I'm used to the name. Have another drink."

She didn't hesitate this time and took the shot in one gulp, only coughing a little at the end. Bull laughed and raised his glass.

"Nice!! To dragons!"

Bull took a drink and then turned as she raised her empty glass high. "To whatever this is! And the hangover I'll have tomorrow!"

The Iron Bull barely caught her as she fell sideways off the stool. "Woah there, Snowflake. You don't want to injure yourself. We're here to celebrate, remember."

"Yes! To dragons!" Then she giggled, and the corners of his mouth quirked upward. He'd never heard her giggle before. "Are you going to call me Snowflake, too? Varric says it fits because I'm _beautiful_ and _mean_. Do you think I'm mean, Bull?"

"Mean as they come, boss."

She smirked and leaned her lithe body backward over his arm to wave at someone in the back of the tavern. Bull turned to see Varric and Dorian sitting in the corner. Dorian got up and started walking toward them while Bull gently pulled her upright. She planted her hands on the bar and huffed out a quiet, "woah."

"Darling, you're going to be miserable on our journey tomorrow if you don't stop now. Cabot, some water please."

"Hellooooo, Dorian!"

She leaned back into Dorian and turned her head to smile up at him. Bull barely stifled a chuckle as she put a hand on the mage's face and patted his cheek quite firmly. Dorian winced and reached up to grab her hand. She laughed hysterically. Bull laughed with her.

"She's hilarious when she's drunk!" he roared.

"How _did_ you manage to get her so drunk in fifteen minutes?"

Dorian's grey eyes flashed at Bull in irritation. He leaned down to smell her mug and suddenly looked like he might throw up.  
  
"What _is_ that?"

"This, my friend, is the good shit."

Dorian raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "If you say so... Now, since you've seen to it that our waifish Inquisitor will be completely plastered for the entire evening, you can get her back to the corner where we can try to keep her out of trouble."

Bull held up his hands in mock defeat as Dorian grabbed the mug of water. The Iron Bull stood up, grabbed the Inquisitor around the waist and carried more than walked her over to the corner where Varric had arranged some chairs and benches in a circle.

As they followed the mage, Bull's head cocked to the side while watching the sway of Dorian's hips. If the man weren't a 'Vint, Bull might even feel tempted by the curvaceous ass swinging back and forth in all its leathered glory.

Or maybe that wasn't right. Maybe that burning in his gut as he took in the wide, muscled shoulders, trim waist and satiny-looking skin in front of him meant he already had a problem. Maybe the way he'd wanted to rip into that Magister when he found out about Dorian's past meant he'd allowed himself to slip a little too comfortably into his Tal-Vashoth identity.

Or maybe he'd just blame the maraas-lok for tonight and leave the soul-searching for tomorrow.

By the time he got her to the corner, Cole, Sera, Leliana and Josephine had also joined the circle with Dorian and Varric, and the Inquisitor greeted everyone with raucous enthusiasm and quite a bit of slurring. The Commander, Cassandra and Blackwall had yet to make an appearance, and no one expected Solas to come, which was why they were so surprised when he walked into the tavern.

"Hey, Solas, over here!" Bull called to him as he sat the Inquisitor between Dorian and Varric and took a seat at the back facing the door.

"Solas! Oh, I'm _so glad_ you came!"

She tried to stand up but only managed one step before she began to wobble. Solas reached out to steady her, and she started laughing hysterically. From over her head, Solas looked at them all with accusing eyes.

"It is still early evening, how...?"

Bull raised his hand. "It was all me. I didn't think three shots would be _this_ bad, though."

He had to admit, he hadn't intended to get her quite this drunk. She definitely didn't drink much if three shots got her three sheets like this. Dorian stood to direct her back to her seat, and Solas sat down on a chair to Bull's right. Dorian and Bull worked to get her to stay seated between them. She was drunk, no doubt about it. She swayed slightly as she sat on the chair.

"My beautiful idiot, I need you to stay seated so you don't fall down and hurt yourself."

"But I want to give everyone a hug," she protested.  
  
"I don't think that's a good idea, Boss. Maybe give it an hour?"

For the next hour, the Inquisitor laughed a little too loudly and said adorably sappy but innocuous things about how everyone around the circle was her favorite this or that, including Warden Blackwall, who had arrived shortly after Solas. The Warden waved away her attention, but contrarily, the man seemed to flourish under it, relaxing into his chair and speaking in a more friendly manor than Bull had seen before.

What he noticed most, however, was how often she curled into herself when no one was speaking to her directly. A far-off look and a mildly pained expression accompanied her quiet. Bull played a few scenarios in his head of trying to get her to talk about it - whatever "it" was - but they all ended in disaster. Even with all his Ben-Hassrath training, he just didn't have her figured out, yet.

Better to talk with Dorian about it. He'd drag it out of her. Or better yet, the Commander, if he ever showed up. She was on her third mug of water now, and Bull noticed she'd stopped swaying at least. He decided to distract her in the meantime.

"So, if Dorian is your favorite smart-ass Tevinter mage-" Dorian interrupted to remind him she'd said "cheeky" not "smart-ass," but Bull just continued on, "and Solas is your favorite Elven Fade historian, does that mean I'm your favorite Qunari?"

The Inquisitor shook her head forcefully. "Nope."

"No, eh? You got another one hidden around here you like better?"

She finally laughed again. "Weeeell, nooooo. But you're already my favorite dragon slayer!"

Bull roared, an unexpected glee flooding through him at her words. "Yeeeeeessss! To dragons!"

He raised his glass, as did she. They both drank together, he straight from the bottle and she from her mug of water. A little water dribbled down her chin as she drank, and she leaned forward to cover her mouth with her hand, giggling the whole time.

"So, how about Varric?"

"Hmmmm... Varric is my favorite storyteller, I think."

Varric grunted but raised his glass all the same. "A little obvious, Snowflake, but I'll take it."

She smiled at Varric, then turned to Dorian to whisper in his ear. The mage nodded, walked up to the bar and returned a few minutes later with a plate of bread, meat and cheese.

"Here you are, darling. You probably should have done this before you allowed that lummox over there to intoxicate you beyond all reason. I hope one of those teas you love so much is a fix for hangovers."

She stuck her tongue out at Dorian before tearing off a piece of the bread and popping it in her mouth. Dorian sat down and deliberately turned his back on her to resume his conversation with Josephine about Antivan delicacies. Bull laughed, ignoring how his eye wanted to wander over the mage's alluring profile, and was about to join a rousing conversation between Leliana and Varric about the merchant guild when he caught a strange movement in the corner of his eye - the barest hint of a sleeve around the corner. Just as Bull decided to move, a small voice whispered in his ear.

" _Wrong. Knife-eared mage. Mark that doesn't belong. Needs to die. For his glory._ " Bull flicked his eye over to see Cole hunched beside him. "He's planning to attack. I can take care of it."

Bull, unnerved by the spirit boy but more concerned about the potential threat to the Inquisitor, kept his voice low as he responded, "Don't kill, just disarm. Debilitate."

"So you can ask questions. Yes. Ok."

For a tense moment, he waited. Catching Leliana's eye, she nodded in understanding. She'd seen it, too. Then Cole appeared at Bull's side with a clean knife in his hand. Bull assumed it had belonged to the assassin.

"It's done. Man sits against the wall like he's had too much. But he won't be waking up for a while."

Bull nodded. "Any others?"

"No. Alone. Arrived today. His thoughts were quiet until now. I didn't find him 'til you did. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it, kid. That's why all of us are here. One can catch what another will miss."

Leliana got up to deal with the issue just as the Commander and Cassandra walked in.

"Commander, Cassandra, perfect timing," she announced in a calm tone. "I need to speak with you both about something."

They both gave the spymaster a strange look but instantly responded, "Of course."

Josephine, who had missed the whole thing, looked up. "Oh, can I be of any assistance?"

Leliana shook her head. "Not right now. Thank you, Josie."

To their collective dismay, the Inquisitor stood, too. However, Leliana's dismay quickly turned into astonishment as the Inquisitor walked up, gave the spymaster a hug and said in a loud whisper, "I didn't tell you, yet. You're my favorite bad-ass spy. Did you know that?"

Leliana smiled and gave the elf a small squeeze in return before leading her back to her seat. "We'll be back soon. And Bull promises not to ply you with any more alcohol." The redheaded spymaster turned a critical eye to him now. "Doesn't he?"

Bull put his hand over his heart. "On my honor - though I do _not_ promise _I_ won't have any more alcohol. Heh heh heh."

Bull's attention returned to the Commander, who had been as astonished as Leliana by the Inquisitor's actions. He had watched her as she sat down but couldn't seem to catch her gaze - she stared into the distance, eyes unfocused, face flushed. So he just announced to the room, "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

Varric raised his mug. "We'll be here waiting, Curly."

Bull watched them huddle in conversation as they turned the corner and then heard a faint shuffle. A few people on that side of the bar turned curious eyes toward them, and Bull looked to his side to see if the Inquisitor noticed.

She held her plate and mug in front of her precariously, her gaze directed at where the Commander had just been, a small, dreamy smile spread across her face. Bull shook his head. The two of them needed to just get on with it already. The tension between them hung so thick, even he was getting riled by it. The Iron Bull reached out to take the plate from her.

"You should really eat more of this. You're already losing too much weight."

She furrowed her brows at him. Her voice came out slightly slurred, but otherwise she seemed to be sobering up a bit.

"What, do the Ben-Hassrath have visual weight-guessing skills?"

Bull shrugged. "Yes, actually. We have to be able to give descriptions, so we get pretty good at guessing height and weight. But it wouldn't take a spy to see you've lost weight since I joined. And how much did you lose before that?"

"Being a scholar for my clan didn't really prepare me for the life of wandering around Ferelden... soon Orlais. I had to get into shape."

"Maybe the first month... but now? You're just not eating, Boss. Tell me, how much did you eat before this today?"

He gestured to the plate in his hand and saw her grit her teeth.

"I didn't have a lot of _time_ today with all the _things_ I have to do... things that ensure we don't all _die_ from an archdemon attack or get _sucked_ into the _Fade_ or whatever. I'm _fine_ , Bull... or I will be in a few hours. Right now, the world is still... kind of ... spinning."

Unperturbed, Bull smirked and nodded to the mug in her hand. "Keep drinking that water and eating your dinner, Snowflake. The Commander will make sure you get to bed... Or maybe you'll finally bed _him_?"

Her head lolled forward, and Bull feared for a split-second that she was passing out... until she groaned in exasperation. "Not you, too! Varric, Dorian and Josephine have already been giving me no end of grief about this. _Yes_ , I know it's there. _No_ , I don't know _exactly_ what I wanna do about it. Is that _OK_ with you all? Am I allowed to have a say in my own life in this _one thing_ at least?"

Her voice had increased in volume as she spoke, and Bull grimaced. He'd expected embarrassment, but she'd gotten angry instead. So much for all that spy training. Everyone around the circle looked curiously between them.

"Yeah, sure, boss. Whatever you want."

She looked at him with a deep frown on her face. "Thank you. Now give me my plate."

She set the mug on the floor, took the plate from Bull, and began ripping off pieces of bread and violently shoving them in her mouth. She slouched down in her chair, glowering, and silently dared anyone to challenge her again. Everyone turned back to their conversations.

Maybe he hadn't done such a good thing by getting her drunk.

Over her head, Bull looked at Dorian, who nodded and mouthed, "The Commander."

Bull nodded back. Dorian had told him about her apparent ease at talking through difficult situations with the Commander. If anyone could get her to open up about her troubles, it was him.

Bull turned his attention to Varric and Solas' conversation about dwarven history and culture and left the Inquisitor to her sulking... for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Iron Bull's psychology intrigues me. I'm still trying to get into his head, so this chapter is a bit short on introspection. However, introspection in itself is probably his downfall, actually. He's far smarter and far more invested in his "fake" life than he should be. He sort of knows it, but chooses to ignore it until he can't any longer. Looking forward to delving into that more deeply.
> 
> Also, apologies to Cole - I co-opted his banter with Bull about "The Iron Dragon" for Evana's conversation because I wanted to fit it in somewhere and this seemed appropriate.


	30. In which the heart leads the way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As more and more seeming obstacles are cleared away, Cullen begins to hope for more than mere friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance for the ending.

Cullen and Cassandra had picked up an unconscious man at Leliana's direction, and then she'd lead them out the door, across the courtyard and down to the dungeon below. After they deposited the man in a cell and locked the door, she took them up to the war room to explain. Cullen felt his gut twisting as she described the event, but he kept his face as neutral as possible. Cassandra didn't bother to hide her dismay.

"So, we nearly lost our Inquisitor because of a single person who slipped through our vetting process? We have to be more careful!"

Leliana nodded. "I agree, but we can't turn people away simply because they _might_ be a threat. Cullen must build his army, and we need more scouts every day. The expansion of our organization into Orlais will require many people." She paused and considered for a moment. "What about using Cole as a targeted means to find those who are unsafe?"

Cullen finally spoke up. "I'm not sure if his... abilities truly work that way, but we should ask him. Clearly, he did sense this man eventually."

"Or he sensed Bull's alarm as a call for help," Leliana countered.

Cassandra looked uneasy. "I do not think it wise to place the fate of the Inquisition in the hands of a demon... or spirit... whatever you wish to call him."

"I would still do regular checks on our people," Leliana assured in a soothing tone, "but this way, we could potentially mitigate the risks of someone else taking a stab at the Inquisitor." Cullen's gut wrenched again as Leliana pulled out the dagger Cole had taken from the man and laid it on the table. "We'll need to discuss this more in the morning, but right now, there's not much we can do besides make sure the Inquisitor remains safe. I'm going to put some additional men and women on duty tonight, just to be sure. I suggest you do the same, Cullen. Cassandra, if you could head back down to the Herald's Rest to keep an eye on things there, we'll join you shortly."

They broke the impromptu meeting, and Cullen strode to the barracks to find a few of his lieutenants. After organizing a quick schedule change, the officers saluted and hurried off to complete their new orders. None asked why - they all knew better than to question him. If the Commander thought they needed extra security, that was good enough for them.

Cullen worked his way back toward the tavern and tried to turn his mind away from the thought of losing her right here under his watch. He had to admit it would have been a long shot to get past all her companions, but still, the threat was real, and they needed to address it. It would be bad enough to lose her in the dangerous wilds, but here in Skyhold? Where he was supposed to be protecting her? Another shudder wracked his body.

He entered the tavern and stood by the door for a moment, gazing toward the corner through the dim, smoky haze of the tavern. Leliana had told him how Bull had gotten the Inquisitor screaming drunk in under fifteen minutes, and he now wondered if that was why she'd barely looked at him before. Otherwise, the implications were not good.

He'd gone too far in the garden. He should have let her go find Cassandra. But the moment had taken him, and once she stood there before him, baring her pale, kissable shoulders, he knew he couldn't stop and risk shaming her. And Maker, he hadn't _wanted_ to stop. Even now, he could feel her soft skin under his fingers. He clenched his fists, and walked toward the group.

Evana slouched in her seat, an impossibly sad expression on her face. Her eyes were focused on the floor, as before, but when he greeted the group, she looked up at him and gave a small smile. Dorian quickly stood from his seat and approached Cullen.

"I've got to finish up some preparations for the journey tomorrow. Take my place, will you?" Dorian's voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "She's sad about something, but none of us can get her to open up about it. I thought you, with your _special skills_ , might have a bit more success than the rest of us."

Then, patting him on the shoulder, Dorian made his farewells and left the Tavern. Cullen looked back to find her still looking at him, smiling. Uncomfortably aware of all the eyes turned toward him, he waved a greeting to everyone and walked over to take Dorian's seat.

"Mind if I sit next to you?"

She glanced away from him, still smiling, and then shook her head. She sat up in her chair and said in a small voice, "Of course not. I prefer it, ma falon."

Cullen's heart swelled. "How are you feeling? I heard Bull's celebration alcohol was fairly potent."

He spoke to her softly, but Bull still turned toward them slightly and winked at him over her head. At least, Cullen thought it must be a wink - hard to tell with the one eye. She was speaking, however, so he didn't have time to give the Qunari a disapproving stare.

"Better now. I feel strange, but the world isn't quite so spin-y. And you're here."

She glanced at him shyly, and his heart swelled again to the point he thought his chest might actually explode. He tried to remind himself that she was still drunk - or at least quite tipsy - but the full-hearted feeling remained.

"I'm glad I was finally able to make it."

"What did Leliana want with you and Cassandra?"

Her eyes reflected curiosity but not the accusation he'd feared. They had discussed telling her tonight, but with the threat mitigated and the potential victim... inebriated, it seemed unnecessary to draw attention to it now. They would apprise her of the situation later when they had a solution to offer. Until then... Cullen shrugged, trying to be nonchalant even as his gut twisted once again.

"We just needed to attend to a security issue. We are gathering more information and will let you know what we find out."

She nodded. Varric's voice lifted above the din of the tavern in an imitation of Hawke, and Cullen recognized it as a line from one of Hawke's adventures before the Rebellion. Evana seemed to notice as well, and her attention diverted from him for a moment to listen in. He took the opportunity to study her as he pretended to focus on the dwarf. Her hair, mussed more than usual by her evening antics, hung in disheveled waves around her face, and her cheeks, flushed from the heat of the drink, stood out against her otherwise pale skin. His fingers itched to push that hair behind her ears so he could more fully see her face, but a keen sense of self-preservation kept his hands clenched to his thighs where they belonged.

After a few minutes, she suddenly turned her whole body away from Varric to face him. The chairs were close together, so her knees settled lightly against his thigh. A jolt of awareness punched through him as he focused his full attention on her, but everything fell away when he recognized the troubled look on her face. She'd had the same look last night as they'd walked through the courtyard together. When she'd spoken so solemnly of her own death.

She leaned in closer to him, her hands clasped in her lap, and he did the same. Instantly, her soft, earthy scent surrounded him, and his attention wandered to what it might be like to take her in his arms to comfort her, to bury his face in her hair and breathe her in. Instead, he took a deep, calming breath and steeled himself against the distracting feelings coursing through him at being so close to her.

"So, you were in Kirkwall a long time," she finally said in a low voice. "Ten years... it's... that's a long time."

Cullen nodded, unsure of where she was going with the line of questioning. "Yes. I spent the first couple of years adjusting to Kirkwall and trying to find my place there. I was focused on doing my job well and following the rules... so focused that I ignored signs that all was not well with the Circle and the Order. This seemed to please the Knight-Commander, and when the position opened after... after an unfortunate incident with blood mages, she promoted me to Knight-Captain. Then, after Meredith, I spent years helping rebuild Kirkwall, trying to make things better. The rebuilding continues even now."

"Without you," she stated.

He smiled, a strange sense of relief washing through him. "Yes."

"And... did you... leave anyone behind when you came to the Inquisition?"

"A friend or two, I suppose. Guard Captain Aveline, who you might recognize from Varric's tales, became a sort of friend in the years after the Rebellion. But in my fixation on following rules, most of the other templars saw me as an authority figure, not a friend. Those friends I did have... many of them were killed in the Rebellion and others chose to leave the Order after Meredith's demise. And all my family is in Ferelden, as you know."

"So, you were essentially alone, then? For ten years?"

He didn't like the tone in her voice. It sounded too much like pity. She wasn't wrong, though.

"I was in no condition to be a good friend to anyone for many years. I... pushed people away. And I had my work."

"That's not companionship, Cullen. Really, no one special caught your interest in all that time?"

Cullen finally caught her meaning. She was asking if... if he had _someone else_. He barely contained the bubble of laughter that rose up from his gut. As if anyone could hold a candle to her. He leaned in closer to her and tried to put as much significance into his words as possible.

"Not in _Kirkwall_ , no. However, the Inquisition has opened up a new set of possibilities for me."

She nodded, her face tingeing pink. _Maker, she is so beautiful._

"You have friends here."

"I have many things here I didn't have before," he affirmed. "Mostly, I have hope for the future - hope that our tireless efforts here will be rewarded with a resounding defeat over Corypheus."

 _And hope that one day we might be more than just good friends._ He didn't dare say it.

At his mention of Corypheus, her eyes fell to the ground. He gently turned the conversation to the topic Dorian had alluded to.

"I couldn't help noticing when I came in that you looked... distracted. Is everything alright?"

Her eyes shifted slightly up to stare past him, and he saw the distant look return. He'd almost given up on a reply when her focused shifted back to him.  
  
"I... think about Haven a lot. The names on your scroll - the names of those we lost - what we're up against. He's..." she shuddered slightly and drew her arms around her waist and began rocking back and forth slightly. "He's so powerful... shook me around like a rag doll. I keep waiting for my luck to run out, but we just seem to keep squeaking by. I don't mean to diminish what you all have done... it's just... you didn't see him." Her voice fell into a ragged whisper. "You didn't feel his evil staring into you... staining you... trying to rip you apart. Being a mage, I've never had much trouble with nightmares until Redcliffe. Now... I think it's why I don't feel rested even after sleep."

As he'd suspected, her tone held shades of what they'd talked about the night before, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her onto his lap and hold her, comfort her. But he couldn't. All he could do was tell her the truth. The weight of Corypheus' power - and the very real possibility that he could succeed in bringing Thedas to its knees - haunted him as well, but he had hope.

"All any of us can do is our best," he said firmly. "We will take whatever time the Maker gives us and do as much good as possible. You and your companions have already saved so many lives, and Haven was no exception. Your sacrifice and bravery inspired a people who had just lost everything. You gave hope where there was none. We are all together and with you, and we will protect you, as you do us. You are _not_ alone, ma falon. We all... care for you. _You_ have friends here, too."

Cullen hadn't realized the rest of the group had grown quiet until Varric called out a hearty, "Here, here!" and raised his glass.

She flushed pink and turned to all of them, who were now raising their glasses. Josephine made the toast.

"To Evana Lavellan. Our Herald and Inquisitor, yes, but also a friend. We are lucky to have you among us. Here's to you, my friend."

Cullen watched as they cheered and clinked their glasses together, then caught Josephine's eye and tilted his head in thanks. She tilted her head in return and gave him a knowing grin.

Without warning, Evana leapt around Cullen and nearly knocked the ambassador over with a bear hug. Josephine laughed, handed her glass of wine to Blackwall and squeezed her back. The petite elf then turned and squeezed herself onto the bench next to Josephine, forcing the ambassador to scoot a little closer to the Warden. Neither she nor Blackwall seemed to mind all that much.

Cullen, however, found himself in an even more distracting position than before. His chair had been placed against the end of the bench, and now her leg and side pressed against him in a highly distracting manner. He could move, but he feared she might fall off the bench. And despite her coy looks at Blackwall, Josephine didn't seem interested in moving down any further on her side. Evana swayed a little bit without the support of a chair back, and Cullen found himself putting his arm around her back, his hand resting lightly on her waist, to support her. To his surprise, she leaned against him, placing her head in the crook of his armored shoulder.

He looked up in time to see Varric giving him a wink while The Iron Bull reached across the now empty chair between them and punched Cullen lightly in the arm. He felt the heat rising in his cheeks, but he had no intention of moving. No, this was worth any amount of teasing. He relaxed back into his chair and felt her relax into his side. His armor couldn't be that comfortable, but it didn't seem to bother her. Sera snickered across the way from him, and he was sure she would have said something lewd if Varric hadn't stepped in.

"Did I ever tell you all about the time...?"

Varric regaled them with another fantastical tale of his journeys while the rest of them listened to or, in Bull's case, heckled the dwarf. Cullen focused on the story for the most part, but every small movement she made drew his attention. He noticed when she'd begun yawning. He noticed her rubbing her eyes. He noticed that Josephine had moved over toward Blackwall quite a bit more, but Evana hadn't moved away from him at all. If anything, she'd snuggled in closer.

He also noticed that he thought of her as Evana in his head more often than not these days. The voice telling him how dangerous that could be dwindled to nothing more than a faint whisper.

As Varric concluded his story, Cullen turned to catch Cassandra's eye and motioned down toward Evana with his head. She gave a slight tilt of acknowledgment. Cullen leaned his head down and spoke softly into Evana's rather delectable ear.

"You seem tired. Perhaps Cassandra and I can walk you to your quarters?"

She looked up at him, and he had to stop himself from looking down to her lips. Their faces were so close - mere inches apart. _Focus!_

"I need two strong warriors to get me there?"

He cleared his throat and chuckled awkwardly. "Well, as I mentioned before, the security issues are still unresolved. No sense in taking any chances."

"You think I'm in danger?"

"I think I would rather be safe than risk anything happening to you."

The intensity of feeling that welled inside him translated into a rather intense tone, but instead of retreating, she smiled up at him, a strangely tender look on her face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her hand lift as if she were going to caress his face. He wished she would. But a heartbeat later, the hand fell to her lap. She sat up from him and then stood up a little shakily.

"Lead the way, Commander."

Cassandra placed her arm around the elf's waist, and Evana mimicked the gesture. As Cullen led them out of the tavern, several people raised their glasses to her, and she bowed awkwardly to them in return. Once outside, Cullen fell in step on the other side of Evana, trying to peer through the darkness and keep watch for any assassins hiding in the shadows. He tried not to let the paranoia overwhelm him, but he internally sighed in relief as they easily made it across the courtyard and up to her quarters. After sitting her down gently on the bed, Cassandra joined Cullen in a quick sweep of her quarters.

"That must be some security issue."

"Just taking precautions, Inquisitor," Cassandra reassured her.

After satisfying himself that the rooms were empty, he checked the balconies and then closed and locked them. Cassandra had already returned to the Inquisitor, and they talked quietly while sitting on the edge of her bed. Then, Evana reached around the Seeker and pulled her into a hug, just as she had done with Josephine earlier. Cassandra seemed surprised, but not at all displeased, and patted the elf gently on the back.

Cullen stood back, and when they parted, he cleared his throat. "Would you like any tea to help you sleep, my lady?"

"Oh, yes, that would be lovely. Thank you."

Cullen turned to fill and then place her kettle on the fire. When he turned back, Cassandra was taking her leave.

"I will leave you two to your tea. It is already late, and I must prepare for the journey tomorrow as well."

"Oh... OK," Evana replied tentatively.

She blushed as she glanced at Cullen and then turned back to watch Cassandra walk down the stairs. The door at the bottom closed with a soft click, and they were alone in her room. Cullen reminded himself that he had been alone with her many times before, but with her sitting on her bed looking at him shyly, he suddenly had to work harder than normal to banish the impure images that leapt into his brain. She stood suddenly and clasped her hands in front of her.

"I... um... need to pack some things for tomorrow. I hope you don't mind..."

"Not at all. I'll fix the tea and be out of your way shortly."

Evana looked at him, confusion etched across her face. "I thought you were... Oh..." She shook her head and seemed to course correct halfway through, her voice flustered. "If you have things to do, I can finish the tea. I... I didn't mean to keep you. You've done so much already-"

Cullen raised a hand to rub the back of his neck. "No! I mean... I thought you'd want me to ... I don't have anything - not anything urgent, anyway. I could..."

He stopped when he heard her start laughing. "We're really bad at this, Cullen."

The corner of his mouth quirked up, and soon he joined her in her mirth. He didn't ask what she meant by "this." It was enough that she'd spoken it - that "this" existed. As Dorian had pointed out, there _was_ something between them. He could only hope to the Maker that it was more than close friendship for her.

"I suppose we are sometimes, though not all the time."

When her laughter quieted, she looked at him from across the room, a smile still on her face and bowed slightly. "Commander, would you be so kind as to grace me with your company for tea this evening?"

Playing along, he bowed back. "I would be utterly delighted, my lady Inquisitor."

They stood smiling at each other for a moment more before she shook her head in contained amusement and walked a bit unsteadily into the closet behind her bed. Taking off his gloves, he laid them on the arm of the couch, walked to the mantle and picked up a box he assumed held her tea. It was similar to the one she'd had in Haven but a bit larger. He opened it and pulled out a pouch. As he opened the pouch and shook some of the leaves into two mugs, her voice floated to him from the closet.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you - I made you more tea pouches. They are over on my desk. I made some bigger ones for you with bigger ties. You'll probably still need to take off your gloves, but I hope it won't be quite as cumbersome this way."

He walked over to the neatly arranged desk. On the front edge, next to several precisely arranged piles of reports, he found the tea pouches. The lined leather pouches were embossed with elven markings he hadn't seen before - different from those on his sword and doublet but similar to the doodles that always lined the margins of her letters to him. There were three altogether, and one pouch held the equivalent of about three smaller pouches of tea. This and the draughts should get him through the next month or two.

As he studied the unfamiliar markings in the candlelight, he heard her come out of the closet and lay her saddlebags over the stair railing. He turned to her to express his thanks, but the words died on his lips when he saw her.

She'd changed into a flowing night dress, and the soft gray fabric of it scooped lightly around her collarbone and laced up the front. His eyes followed the lines of the simple dress down to the floor where her toes peeked out as she walked over the plush carpet toward him. Eyes suddenly, guiltily snapping upward, he cleared his throat, willing his stammer away as hard as he could.

"Ma serannas, Evana."

A shy but pleased smile crossed her face, and he had a sudden and overwhelming urge to do something for her in return. But what could he give the leader of what was fast becoming one of the most powerful organizations in Thedas? She approached him now, the shy look still in her eyes, but a hint of something else, too.

"You called me by my name."

A bit startled, Cullen thought back. It must have slipped out in his distraction. That's what came of letting himself think of her that way in his head.

"I... guess I did... does it... I mean, is that alright?"

Evana laughed as she walked around and tested the kettle on the fire. "Of course. If you'll remember, that's what I wanted you to call me from the beginning."

"I suppose it was." Cullen colored a little bit thinking of that night in Haven. "It seems like a distant memory now, but in reality, it's only been a few months. So much has changed so quickly."

"When I dream of my time before the mark, I awake feeling as if there's a part of me I'll never get back - as if that person has simply vanished, passed on as the dead cross into the Beyond. In a way, I think she has. _That_ Evana Lavellan will never exist again."

The somber tone in her voice brought him crashing down to reality. She had changed - and _they_ had forced that change upon her. Even if she accepted it now, why would she stay with the people who had forced her to bear such a heavy burden? Wouldn't she relinquish that burden as soon as possible? He clenched his teeth, suddenly and forcefully pushing back on the feelings that had run away with him all evening.

She brought over the boiling water to fill the mugs he'd prepared, and then set the kettle on a trivet on her desk. Picking up her mug, she motioned to the couch in front of the fire. He walked with her and awkwardly settled on one side of the plush furniture while she sat on the other. She pulled her feet up on the couch, and he frowned at the slip of pink toes peeking from underneath the hem of her dress.

"One day, when this is all over, you will be able to go back to your clan," he forced himself to say as he looked up to meet her gaze. "We would not wish to... lose you, but after we defeat Corypheus, you could return. We... we wouldn't stop you."

She was shaking her head before he'd even finished speaking. "In my last letter from Haven, I asked Keeper Deshanna for more healing bark, but I also told her she should begin training our Second, Aneer, as the new First. If something should happen to our Keeper, the clan needs to have someone they can trust to lead them. I won't be able to return to my clan before Corypheus is dead, and even if I live, which is still very much in doubt, I don't know that my clan would accept me back. I... I think I've already been away too long."

Her eyes were sad, but her words held an undercurrent of acceptance he wasn't expecting. He'd often thought of her return to her clan as inevitable - another reason out of the hundreds he gave himself for not speaking to her about how he really felt. Now, she seemed resigned to staying with the Inquisition, regardless.

"Does no one in your clan leave and then return?"

She turned her eyes away from him. "Not usually. If a clan member leaves, it is to perform a task for the clan, and the person performing the task, whether it be trading or searching for raw materials, returns immediately after the task is completed. I've always thought of my time with the Inquisition as performing a task to save my clan, but I doubt they will see it that way. Keeper Deshanna's letter made it sound like they thought of me as representing the clan, but I know our politics better than that... I know how the clan feels about me better than that."

"Ir abelas. I don't know what to say except that what was said in the tavern tonight is true. You have friends here who care about you and want the best for you."

She smiled faintly as she stared into the fire. "It helps. Ma serannas, Cullen."

He nodded at her and took a sip of the tea. Pausing to let the familiar taste run over his tongue, he was surprised to find a few extra flavors there.

"Hmmm... this is a bit different, isn't it?"

"Oh?"

Her brow furrowed, and she took a sip herself. Her brows cleared as she gave a small laugh.

"Oh! I must have had a bag of my healing tea mixed in with the calming tea. It's the typical calming recipe with a few extra herbs to help heal wounds more rapidly. It won't hurt to drink it. In fact, it might do us both good."

Cullen took another sip and found he liked the taste quite a bit. The tea had a minty undertone that made him feel both relaxed and refreshed.

"It's good."

"I'm glad you like it. I'll make some for you."

Her tone came out breathy, and he looked over to see her leaning her head against the back of the couch.

"You should get some rest, my lady."

"Evana."

She turned her head toward him, and he gave her a lopsided grin. "Evana."

"That alone makes me feel more at home than anything else. I can't tell you, Cullen..."

Her voice wavered slightly, and she looked away from him for moment. When she turned back, her face held a gravity he rarely saw in her outside the war room.

"I can't begin to tell you how much your support and strength means to me." She waved her hand toward the leather pouches still on her desk. "My small gifts to you are an attempt to repay you for your kindness - for taking so much time away from your duties to talk with me and take care of me... especially when I know you have your own troubles. It's unfair, but I've come to rely on you. As much as I appreciate Dorian and Varric and Josephine and all the others... I feel... it feels like there's no one here who understands me like you do. We both know we have some... differences of opinion, but we seem to have much in common as well."

He swallowed hard but held her gaze. Overwhelmed and grateful for her words, he opened his mouth to reply. Nothing came to him. And yet he needed to respond. He _must_. Why was it so hard to simply be open and say what he felt? He forced the ineloquent words through his constricted throat.

"We do. And I'm glad to hear that my words and presence have been helpful to you. Anything I have done or can do for you is my pleasure. I have never felt so..." He struggled again. They were still only friends, and he was terrified to say too much. He pushed himself to continue. "... I've never been so comfortable around anyone before. You make me feel...." His voice dropped, his head filled with emotions battling for supremacy. "You make me feel as if I could really be free... from lyrium... a-and from my past."

She responded in a quiet but determined tone. "You _can_ be. And I will do everything in my power to make sure that process is as painless and easy for you as possible. I hope you'll continue to share your struggles with me. I think we could..." She paused and then reached her hand across the space between them. "I think we could help each other."

He enveloped her slender hand in his without even thinking. It came so naturally. The words, however... he could only be honest with her.

"It has always been difficult for me to be open with people. But... I will do my best."

"Good," she breathed as she slouched down into the couch a little bit, letting their clasped hands fall into the space between.

In the moments that followed, she made no attempt to move her hand, and so neither did he. They looked at each other in silence before she blushed ever so slightly and turned her head to stare into the fire. Relief washed over him. He'd been truthful, and she'd taken it all in stride. He hadn't said too much. Perhaps he could share more with her... later. In the meantime, the one thing that had bothered him since his early conversations with Dorian pushed to the forefront of his mind.

"Evana..."

"Mmmm?" she responded, her eyes finding his once more even as her fingers grasped more tightly at his hand. He ignored the thrill coursing up his spine and forced himself to speak again.

"Regarding our... differences of opinion... You know that I would never..." He clenched his teeth as the words caught in his mouth. Taking a deep breath, he began again. "I hope you know I would never intentionally hurt a mage or allow them to be mistreated. I... I've worked with Fiona to ensure Inquisition mages are integrating well with their new units and have equal status with their peers. I... I think she understands now she can count on me to ensure the mages are protected and remain unharmed."

He could feel panic rising as his next words held in his chest, a weight pushing air out of his lungs in short, quiet bursts. He forced the hated words up and over his lips, his own fingers tightening around hers further, as if he could keep her from running, keep her disgust at his actions at bay with the simple action.

"I know... I know you may have heard things about my past, whispers... rumors-"

"Cullen," she cut in, understanding and concern twining into a soothing tone, "you don't have to-"

"I do," he insisted, rejecting her offer with a shake of his head, refusing to take the coward's way out. "I want to assure you that my main concern is to protect the Inquisition, and that includes mages. I will _not_ allow myself be blinded again. I will protect them with my life if need be - as I would with anyone else."

Instead of tugging it away, she slid her hand further into his tight grip, her eyes glistening in the firelight. "I know that, Cullen. I've seen it. And I... I _trust_ you to keep us all safe." She inhaled deeply before adding, "As for the things we disagree about - I suppose we can keep working on them, right? Perhaps one day we'll find a middle ground on which we can stand together?"

He searched her face for any hesitance, any insincerity. He found none, and suddenly, a great weight lifted from his shoulders.

" _Yes_ ," he affirmed softly but intently. "Yes."

She held his gaze for another moment, a soft smile lighting her face, and then she turned to watch the fire once more. Now that the words had been spoken, he finally felt as if he could relax. Gradually, the familiar, aching awareness he felt anytime she was near him intensified. The soft coolness of her fingers in his sent alternate chills and searing heat through his body, and he had to force himself to turn away from her profile. _Think on something - anything - else!_

Staring into the fire, his mind turned to the first time he'd held her hand like this, when she'd returned from Redcliffe. He tried to imagine the weight she must have felt - must now feel all the more - after experiencing the dark future that would come to pass without her. He'd been honored but somewhat confused by her openness with him that night, but now, thanks to Dorian of all people, he understood how rare it was for her to open up to anyone at all, let alone voluntarily.

He had difficulty believing that she could be so affected by him - it humbled him and also terrified him that she would trust him like that. He wanted to be her comfort and strength, to repay her for lending him her strength and for her faith in him. Perhaps she was right. Maybe things would be easier if they could simply lean on one another. He'd never thought to allow another to share his burdens, but with her, he almost felt he could.

He didn't know how long they sat there, holding hands and staring into the fire in silence, but eventually, he noticed she'd stopped lifting the mug to her lips. He risked a glance in her direction and saw her head lolling to the side, eyes closed and mug tipping precariously. He sat up, and with his free hand, he gently lifted the nearly empty mug from her slackened fingers. He sat for a moment more, memorizing her peaceful face in the firefight before calling her name softly.

"Evana?"

She opened her eyes slowly. "Hmmmm?"

"Shall we get you to bed?"

She reached her other arm out to him, and he stood, pulling her up with him. She stumbled a bit, and he let go of her hand to wrap an arm around her waist. Feeling the gentle swell of her hip under his hand was every bit as maddening as it had been earlier in the day, but he pushed those thoughts aside to focus on helping her to the bed and then under the thick blankets. He'd nearly turned away when she reached up for his hand and pulled him down to sit on the edge of her bed. She held onto his hand, her eyes an alluring mixture of unnamed emotions.

"Cullen, I have to ask you something, but I can't do it right now. I mean, I still feel strange... so when I get back from Redcliffe... I just needed you to know so that I can't back out."

Cullen was a bit perplexed by her statement but nodded anyway. "I'm happy to answer any questions I can."

"As my friend, not my advisor?"

"Well, the two overlap quite a bit - many things I would do or recommend as your advisor I would also as your friend - but yes, I promise to answer as... as a friend."

Giving her hand a squeeze, he smiled and rose from the bed, letting her fingers slowly slide from his. He shoved away the feeling of loss that washed over him.

Walking to the couch, he pulled on his gloves and then threw several more logs on her fire - enough to keep it going until dawn. Then, picking up his tea pouches and mug, he blew out all her candles, once again saving the ones by her bed for last. Her drooping lids rose one last time as he stood over her.

"Goodnight, Cullen. I hope you sleep well."

"Goodnight, Evana. Sweet dreams." _My love._

Her eyes drifted closed. Cullen quickly blew out the remaining candle and returned to his own tower, taking the long way around to avoid going through Solas' study. When he reached the solitude of his office, he briefly thought about trying to work through some of the mountains of paperwork on his desk. However, the tea had already begun loosening his limbs, creating a sleepy sort of hum in his body, and he knew he'd end up falling asleep at his desk within a few minutes. So, he climbed to his loft and began pulling off layers of armor and reviewing the day in his head.

He'd spent much of the day with her, and yet he still felt as though they hadn't had enough time together. Every small step he took toward her, she seemed to accept and then raise him another two steps. He asked her more questions about herself during chess, and she suggested they should spend more time together. He lent her emotional support as she dealt with the attack on Haven, and she assisted him with managing his symptoms and suggested they lean on each other for support more often. And tomorrow she would be leaving for Redcliffe. He told himself he would have those days to catch up on his work, but the thought held no comfort.

Then she would return to ask him whatever question she needed to ask.

He fell into his bed with a small huff and tried to be hopeful - every smile, every blush, every lingering gaze should have made him nothing but hopeful. However, the way she'd phrased things made him nervous. She didn't have something to _tell_ him. No, she had something to _ask_ him. The unsettled feeling followed him as he drifted into sleep.

 

**

 

He woke early from a dreamless sleep, so rather than waste the opportunity, he met the travelers at the stables at dawn to see them off. All three of her companions, even Dorian, seemed to go out of their way to ignore them. He couldn't say it upset him, but it was strange to say the least. Evana was all smiles for him, but he could sense an underlying nervousness in her normal goodbye that, in turn, unsettled him even more. The group filed out of Skyhold before the sun rose over the mountains, and he went back to his office to catch up on the work he'd let pile up the day before.

He excused himself from morning exercises due to the backlog of work, but by afternoon, his muscles begged for a good work out. He'd had some of her tea early in the day to stave off a headache, but the subtle aches still plagued him. He did his best to ignore them. If another episode was coming on, he could do little to forestall it.

After spending several hours with both newer recruits and the seasoned soldiers that afternoon, he was wiped out. The headache had not returned, but he felt weak, almost as if he'd just spent a few days under the weather. He'd likely been a bit harder on the soldiers than usual in an attempt to push through, but he reasoned that it was better he be too hard on them than not hard enough. Their enemy certainly wouldn't go easy on them.

He worked late into the evening and woke up early the next morning to start again. Josephine had asked their growing list of noble contacts for more siege equipment, and several nobles in Ferelden and Orlais had answered the call, including the magnanimous Lady Seryl. As he worked through details of transportation, he also began working through troop counts and looked over the list of names his current Lieutenants had offered for those deserving of promotion. As they expanded their reach into Orlais, they would need experienced officers in as many locations as possible. It was one of the reasons he'd sent Captain Rylen ahead - to establish him as a point of command in Orlais. Rylen's reports had confirmed the existence of a keep in the Western Approach, but it was overrun by bandits. Rylen simply didn't have the numbers to hold their current camps as well as take the keep - not without risking the overall mission. Cullen sighed and added another task to the growing list for Eva- the Inquisitor's trip.

He went to bed late and woke early with a particularly disturbing nightmare and the beginnings of a headache. It was well past noon when he finally sat back to take stock of his work, fingers working his temples in an attempt to keep the headache at bay. His stomach growled loudly just as Lieutenant Rozellene entered the room.

"Sounds like you need some lunch, ser."

Cullen dropped his hands from his temples. "Rozellene, you're back from Crestwood."

"Yes, Commander. The transition to the Keep went smoothly. Lieutenant Conrad is now fully in charge and the troops respond to him as such. Leliana's agent Charter has also taken over full duties of the Ferelden spy network."

Cullen nodded, please by her efficiency. "Good work, Lieutenant. I'm afraid I have another long mission for you, though. I need you to take another contingent of troops out to the Western approach. The Inquisitor will be headed there in a few days, and she'll need troops to hold the camps - more troops than what Captain Rylen's got now, especially if we're going to take and hold Griffon Wing Keep. You'll only need to transfer the men and women into the Captain's care, then you can head back here with the Inquisitor's party when she's ready to return."

"Yes, ser."

He was about to dismiss her, but the look on her face stopped him.  
  
"Did you have something else, Lieutenant?"

She seemed a bit surprised but continued. "Ser, permission to speak freely?"

Cullen nodded curtly. "Granted."

She cocked her head and her body relaxed into a more comfortable position. "I've just arrived and haven't eaten, and we've already established you're hungry. Care for a late lunch?"

As if to punctuate her words, his traitorous stomach growled again. But it was a bad idea. It would be a distraction that he couldn't afford... not if he wanted to spend any time away from his duties in the next few days, preferably in the company of a lovely elven mage with the weight of Thedas on her shoulders. Cullen leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"Thank you, but I've got too much to do to stop now."

She nodded and shrugged. "Understood, ser."

Her posture remained relaxed, but he noticed her eyes moved a bit to his left and a red tinge appeared on her cheeks.

"Dismissed, Lieutenant."

Cullen watched Rozellene go before heading to the kitchen. He liked to go himself instead of sending a messenger because, despite their new cook's strict command over the kitchen staff, she seemed to like him and gave extra helpings if he showed his face. Today was no exception. He left with the kitchen with half a roasted chicken, a giant baked potato, a generous helping of greens, and a quarter of a strawberry pie.

As he headed back to his office, he began to wonder about Rozellene's suggestion. He'd be the first to admit he wasn't the most observant person when it came to women, but her invitation had been out of the ordinary. It caught him off guard. There'd been no time to be embarrassed then, but he felt the heat in his cheeks as he processed the interaction. The longer he thought about his dealings with Rozellene, the more sure he became that she meant the invitation as more than a simple lunch between fellow soldiers. It was subtle - the way she often lingered to discuss things even after being dismissed and the fact that she always brought messages to his office herself instead of sending messengers.

He took comfort in the fact that regardless of her intentions, his response had been appropriate. However, it didn't solve the issue of whether or not he was reading too much into her words and actions. He resolved to be more guarded moving forward. He liked Rozellene and enjoyed her company, but his heart already belonged to Evana.

The lunch held him over for another couple hours of requisitions, reports, and troop assignments before he headed down for afternoon exercises. Today went a little better as far as his energy, but despite the two mugs of tea, his headache only progressed as the afternoon wore on. When he finally reached his office again a little before the sundown, a wave of nausea hit him hard, and he knew he'd have to do something drastic.

He leaned over his desk for a moment to collect himself. The whisper of lyrium had turned into a full-blown song today, but he ignored it, reaching instead for one of the draughts Evana had given him. He hadn't used either, yet - today was the first day things had been bad enough to warrant it. Grabbing a cup, he sat in his chair, poured out a small amount and swallowed it. Then, he leaned back, closed his eyes and waited.

After a few moments, he felt a gradual lessening of the hammer pounding on his skull. He took a swig of water from his mug and cracked an eye open. The light didn't cause shooting pains through his forehead or churning in his stomach, so he opened the other eye and tentatively stood up. Thank the, Maker. He'd have to remember to thank Evana as well.

Right now, however, he needed to clean up from exercises. He didn't like staying in sweaty armor on a regular day, but on a day he'd be seeing her... He headed to the loft, stripping as quickly as possible and cleaning up with a soapy rag. He rinsed off as well as he could while, for once, regretting that he'd declined Josephine's suggestion of adding a personal toiletry room to the loft. It _would_ be easier to maintain his preferred level of cleanliness. Perhaps he'd speak with her about it later, though she'd likely insist on fixing his roof as well. He took a deep breath of the cold mountain air pouring in from the massive hole and imagined it as a solid, unbending roof. He exhaled a shudder at the thought. Perhaps not, then.

Pulling on a clean set of clothes, he threaded fingers through his wet hair and climbed down to his office. The first indication of normalcy was his growling stomach.

Noticing a new pile of papers on his desk, he decided to let a messenger get him dinner and sat down to work through the new reports from Rylen.

Around eight, a small commotion arose at the gate, and then he heard a muffled announcement that the Inquisitor's party had returned. The familiar feeling of relief washed over him - a feeling that had only grown since her first trip to the Hinterlands months and months ago. He briefly thought of going to meet her at the stables but then realized he was still in breeches and a tunic. He returned to his loft to put on a clean doublet and happened to catch a glimpse of himself in the small mirror at his wash basin.

"Maker's breath! What a mess."

He'd forgotten all about his hair. Loose, unruly curls stuck out in every direction. He palmed a little of his typical wax and slid it through his hair to tame the renegade strands. When he was satisfied that he'd done the best he could, he climbed back down and stood in the middle of his office for a moment, unsure of what to do. He should put his armor on, but he was eager to see her again. He didn't have time to wonder for long, though, as Lieutenant Rozellene entered his office a few moments later.

"Commander, I -" she stopped as she took in his informal dress and hesitated. "I'm sorry, did I disturb you?"

Cullen looked down and chuckled softly. "I'm afraid you actually caught me in a moment of indecision. I have a hundred things I _must_ do and only one thing I _want_ to do. Duty, however, prevails in this case. What can I do for you?"

Rozellene looked a bit confused at his unfamiliar tone and comments but, to her credit, continued anyway. "I took the liberty, ser, of coming up with a list of soldiers on hand who I think would do well in the Western Approach. Not everyone is suited for the climate and work, so I've culled the list down."

She walked forward and extended the list to him. "I hope I wasn't overstepping, ser."

Cullen wasn't at all surprised at her initiative. "No, quite the contrary. This will save me an hour or more of my own time."

He perused the list briefly, nodding as he went through the names. "Excellent work, as always, Lieutenant. I have a few substitutions based on some other assignments I'll be making, but otherwise... this is a good list."

"I'm glad I can be helpful to you, ser."

He looked up and gave her an easy smile. "Thank you, Lieutenant, that will be-"

"Cullen! I have so much-"

Evana burst into his office smiling giddily but slapped a hand over her mouth and pulled back when she saw Rozellene. Letting her hand drop she began backing out the door. Her stricken face quickly tinged pink.

"Err... that is... good evening, Commander. I apologize. I didn't mean to interrupt."

In one look, Cullen took in her windswept hair, dusty clothes and... "Inquisitor! Is that fresh blood on your armor?"

Evana looked down and blushed more deeply. "Uh... yes. I came to tell you. We were ambushed by some bandits on the way back-"

He was at her side in an instant, only just keeping himself from reaching for her. It was a miracle he could keep the panic out of his voice.

"Are you hurt?"

She looked a little confused. "What? Oh! No, not at all. I just got to use some of that hand-to-hand combat we've been working on. Cassandra and Bull took care of most of them before they even got to me."

He let out a sigh of relief and turned back to Rozellene. "Thank you again, Lieutenant. That will be all for this evening."

A strange look flashed across her face as she bowed. "Very good, ser."

He turned to see Evana watching Rozellene go, an odd, hesitant expression on her face as well. "I really didn't mean to interrupt... and sorry for calling you Cullen. I should have knocked instead of just bursting in on you. You'd think I'd know better by now. It seems like you're never alone in here."

In all her dirty, bloody glory, she turned to give him a wry smile, and he felt his brain just stop. She was magnificent.

"I... um..." His hand reached up to rub at his neck, and he cleared his throat, trying to remember what they'd been talking about. "Er... You said bandits?"

_Yes, that's it. Bandits. Focus, Rutherford._

"Oh, right, yes. They were on the highway right before the road to Skyhold and jumped down on us from some rocks. Luckily, none of us lost our horses in the shuffle. But I did get to use that block you showed me!"

She mimicked the block, and he laughed. Her enthusiasm was catching.

"And then you kicked him, right?"

"Actually, yes! I kicked him right in the gut."

She acted out a kick to Cullen's gut and then backed away, pulling her staff from her back so quickly, he barely saw her move. Despite knowing better, he froze, apprehension pooling in his gut as she twirled the staff and briefly pulled on her mana.

"Then I hit him with an immolation spell, and he was a goner!" As quickly as she'd begun, she swiveled the staff to her back and resumed in a more even tone. "We also didn't see the usual Inquisition troops who patrol the roads through there. I hope they're ok."

She looked at him with a hopeful expression, and he tried to shake himself out of it - out of templar mode. Five years ago, he would have smote any mage who dared to pull a staff on him, even in jest. But he was no longer that man. He was no longer a templar, and this was the woman he loved. The apprehension gradually melted away, and he smiled wanly at her, a shaky sort of weakness taking over his body in the wake of the tension.

"We'll send a unit out first thing tomorrow to search."

"Good. Ok, let's go to the kitchen for some cookies. I'm starving!"

Apparently, she hadn't noticed his momentary discomfort, or if she had, she deliberately ignored it. Either way, he thanked the Maker. She just grinned, grabbed his hand and pulled him out the side door. He'd expected her to drop his hand once he'd started following her, but she didn't. Hand-in-hand, they walked down the darkened stairs to the lower courtyard and around to the rotunda. He tried to be causal, but the feel of her hand in his, the familiarity with which she held onto him, and the blatant display of affection started a fire in his gut.

Internally chastising himself, he made an effort to focus on her words instead of the way her palm rested in his. She was talking about the meeting at the tavern. They'd arrived late morning and found out the retainer was actually Dorian's father come all the way from Tevinter. She seemed like she might say more, but then simply said that she'd left the two of them to hash things out.

"And then, I got a room at the inn and took an afternoon nap. I felt bad, but I just couldn't stay awake. Bull has been mothering me lately, so he sent me to bed with a giant tray of food and stayed down in the tavern to make sure Dorian's father didn't try to steal him away... which makes me think there might be something going on there."

Cullen tried to feign ignorance. "Oh? What do you mean?"

She laughed at him, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, you don't have to be coy. Dorian told me he told you about his preferences... which means you knew before me. Lucky you! He wouldn't tell me _why_ he told you, though. You weren't gossiping about him and Bull, were you?"

"Oh, no... uh... we were just talking about... things, and it seemed to come up that he wasn't interested in... um... women."

She just grinned at him again as they walked up the back stairs and into the empty kitchen. She began lifting covers and peeking into jars until she found what she was looking for. Grabbing several cookies and stuffing one in her mouth, she turned to offer him the jar.

He lifted one hand and patted his stomach with the other. "None for me, thanks. I already ate a quarter of a pie today. That's enough sweets for me in one day."

Her eyebrows flew up.

"A quarter of a pie?! What kind?" she asked through a mouthful of cookie.

Cullen had to use every ounce of his training to keep a straight face. "Strawberry."

She closed her eyes and groaned. "Awwwww... Strawberry! My favorite!"

"Yes, mine, too."

"Oh? That's unfortunate."

"Unfortunate? How so?"

She shoved another cookie in her mouth and spoke from behind her hand. "We'll forever be fighting over who gets the last slice of Inquisition pie. Or last quarter apparently!"

Cullen let out an amused huff, his mouth cocked to the side at her atypical mirth. He took a step toward her and leaned his hip against the counter she also leaned against. Looking down at her in the dim firelight, the dark smudges under her eyes became more apparent as they extended out from her vallaslin and belied her current mood.

His heart swelled with the affection he felt for the woman in front of him. Every day, he thought he couldn't possibly love her more, but with each conversation, each touch of her hand, his feelings grew more intense. Yet he couldn't protect her from the mark fate had dealt her. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't carry this burden for her, and it ate him up inside.

As his eyes swept over her face, he noticed a small crumb had lodged itself in the corner of her mouth. Before he could think better of it, he raised a hand to her cheek, rested his fingertips against her smooth skin and swiped gently at the stray crumb with the pad of his thumb.

"Have no fear," he murmured. "I would always let you have the last slice."

Her chewing slowed as he caught and held her gaze. After a long moment, he swallowed hard and dropped his hand. She lifted the back of her hand to her mouth, looked down and laughed awkwardly.

"Well... that's good to know... and very nice of you. All this gallantry for a hypothetical fight over an imaginary pie."

Her eyes lighted briefly on his before falling once more, a hint of a smile on her lips. His heart pounded in his chest. He'd been more forward than he intended, but again, she'd taken everything in stride. Hope grew stronger within him, and he found himself replying in kind.

"It's good to talk through the logistics. We'll both be here for some time, so we might as well get the really _big_ questions out of the way."

His tone came out low and teasing. He hoped she understood the undercurrent of seriousness in his words, but even if she didn't, it was good to see her lighthearted and happy. He hardly ever saw her like this. He had a brief flash of a future in which they had defeated Corypheus and she was free to be this happy all the time. He hoped he could be part of it, but even if he couldn't - even if she didn't want him in that way - he would pray for a long, happy life for her nonetheless.

She finally looked up again and smirked at him, and they were silent a moment more until her eyes closed briefly. "Hmmm... I think my excitement from the fight is finally wearing off. Sorry I dragged you down here with me... I hope I haven't put you behind in your work too much."

"Not at all," Cullen said, and still on a high from his earlier successes, he added, "I enjoy spending time with you."

She full-on blushed at his reminder of her words to him during their chess game. "I... enjoy it as well. Thank you for humoring me."

"My pleasure. I think you also said you had something to ask me, but perhaps that should wait until tomorrow. You look like you need a good night's rest."

"And a bath!" She waved her hands over the blood stains and laughed, her eyes shining as she continued to gaze at him. "Shall we go? I don't want the cook to catch us."

"It's alright. She likes me. I could put in a good word for you if you like?"

He was teasing her again, and she picked up on it immediately. "Likes you? Yeah, she does. A quarter of a pie? Are you sure she's not _in love_ with you?"

They laughed and walked out of the kitchens, through the basement and up the stairs that ended in the small space between Josephine's office and the great hall. He thought he saw her hesitate briefly as she passed through to the great hall, but then she disappeared through the door with a small wave. As he headed back downstairs and to his own office for the evening, he wondered a little ruefully how he could be missing her already.

 

**

 

He saw her the next morning at their war council meeting, but they had too much to discuss for more than pleasant greetings. They agreed to begin renovations on the mage tower for Fiona's group as soon as possible and also talked more about their plans for the Western Approach. After the meeting, Josephine spirited Evana away for a meeting with another noble, and he went out for a brief round of morning exercises.

It was late afternoon before he heard a door open quietly, and he looked up from his bookcase to see her approaching. He rose from the floor where he'd been digging on a lower shelf for a book on Orlesian customs he'd borrowed that Leliana now wanted back. He shoved the book at the messenger and turned to meet Evana.

"Inquisitor, what can I do for you today?"

He watched the messenger leave only to see another walk in with some reports for him.

"I thought we could talk..." Looking around at the messenger still shuffling through papers near his desk, she blushed and lowered her voice. "Alone?"

Cullen had known this was coming, but somehow, it still caught him off guard. "Alone? I mean... of course."

He led her out of his office and onto the battlements. A palpable, nervous tension filled the air between them. He wasn't sure where he was going; he only knew he could barely breathe. They walked above the gatehouse, through an abandoned tower, across the next stretch of battlements and through the next tower in complete silence, their usual comfortable quiet now awkward and strained. When he could be silent no longer, he said the first thing that popped into his head.

"It's a nice day."

She paused in her walk, as if his voice had disturbed her. "What?"

He stopped, too. It wasn't apparent if she were upset or simply distracted. Either way, he could relate. His traitorous hand found the back of his neck as he stumbled over his words.

"It's... ah... there was something you wished to discuss?"

He saw her tug at her bottom lip with her teeth. Normally, it would have been alluring, but right now it just added to the doubt and nervousness already heavy in his chest.

"Cullen, I-"

She stopped and closed her eyes. Then, taking a deep breath, she seemed to steel herself. Cullen braced himself in turn.  
  
"Cullen, I care for you and..."

He startled slightly as her words registered in his brain, and she paused again, blushed furiously and sighed. Her eyes were turned downward, but the fear in him melted away. Instead, the hope he had cherished for many weeks now finally blossomed into certainty. She _did_ care for him. Whatever doubts and fears came next - and clearly she had both - at least he had that much. A part of his mind exploded in an ethereal kind of joy he'd never experienced before, even as he tried to remain focused and fight off a stupid grin threatening to take over his face. Her face morphed into something between embarrassment and sadness, and it occurred to him that he should say something. So he once again said the first thing that popped into his brain.

"What's wrong?"

He cringed internally. _A beautiful woman - the woman you love, no less - just told you she cares for you, and_ that _is your response?_ What an inane question. He could answer it with several things himself. It seemed to spur her on, however, and her gaze focused on the mountains behind him as she pieced together her answer in the form of more questions.

"You left the templars, but do you... could you really trust a mage? I guess my question is..." Her eyes - a beautiful mixture of hope and hesitance - finally met his once more, and she continued, "... could you think of me as anything _more_ than a friend?"

He shouldn't be surprised. All of his struggles with trusting mages had been mostly internal, and he knew he still had things to work through. How could she know how he blamed himself for the horrible things that had happened to the mages in Kirkwall? How he felt sick when he thought about how he'd treated them after what happened in the Ferelden Circle? How relieved and happy - and yet still wary - he was that the mages there with them now were doing so well? She couldn't know. All she knew was that he was a former templar with views that clashed quite forcefully with her own.

"I could... I- I mean I _do_... think of you. And what I might say in this sort of situation."

 _I think of you all the time, even when I shouldn't._ He turned away from her, the memories of his past decisions now haunting him. _How can she really want_ me _?_ She wouldn't if she knew. Could he do this in good conscience? Could he allow her to connect herself with someone she would have hated only five years ago? He rubbed his fingers into his temples and began walking further down the battlements. She followed him and leaned against the battlement wall when he stopped.

"So, what's stopping _you_?" she asked tentatively.

He shook his head and looked at her. "Name it. You're the Inquisitor. We're at war. And you..." He paused, everything in him stretching out to her, and he couldn't help taking a step closer before continuing in a lower voice. "I didn't think it was possible."

Her face reflected an intensity he'd never seen before as she replied in a breathless tone, "And yet I'm still here."

He moved toward her again, breaths coming more quickly now, and placed his hands tentatively on her hips. "So you are... It seems too much to ask..." His voice lowered slightly. "But I want to."

The hesitation was nothing but a pretense in his mind, and he knew it. He wanted more... _Maker, so much more_. Hadn't he already admitted to himself that he'd forsake everything if she cared even a little? She _did_ care, and now he _would_ take her for himself. Perhaps he could take things slowly and reveal more of himself to her as they got to know each other better? If she decided to break things off with him when she found out about his past, he would accept it.

Maker damn him for his weakness, but he would take this chance at happiness, the world be damned.

As he began lowering his head toward hers - their breath hitching, hearts pounding - he looked down at her lips and then back to her eyes. The truth shone out for him to see. She did want him. It felt unbelievable, and yet... she was here with him, her face open to him, inviting him to finally taste the lips he'd dreamt of so many times.

His mouth came within an inch of hers just as the tower door behind them slammed open and a voice shouted out, "Commander!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted both points of view for this, and this was the easiest break. Chapter 31 will be up by tomorrow, I promise!! Fair warning going forward, I'll probably do this kind of thing for a few other scenes, but I'll always try to have the chapters up as close as possible to each other.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and feel free to let me know what you think!!


	31. In which friends become lovers, much to their mutual delight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Evana take a leap into the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter dedicated to my poor, tortured Kagetsukai (and everyone else who has waited patiently through this insane slow-burn). Here there be smooches! Am I forgiven?

Evana thought her heart might beat right out of her chest at the liquid heat pumping through her veins. Goose bumps prickled from her chest and down her arms as his fingers dug gently into her hips. She could barely believe it - but here he was saying that he wanted this... wanted _her_. It felt too good to be true, but his looks, his closeness, his touch all confirmed the thrilling words. And now he was going to kiss her. His face hovered over hers, so close she could feel his breath and the earthy scent of calming tea wash over her. Creators, she wanted it so badly, she thought she might explode if his lips didn't touch hers soon.

But with the sound of a door and a messenger's voice, it all crashed down, and with it came a disappointment so crushing it left her breathless. _Fenedhis lasa! Would they forever be interrupted?_ Cullen froze for a split-second and then closed his eyes with a frustrated exhalation. He hadn't moved away from her yet, his hands still burning into her hips, but as the messenger approached without looking up from his papers, Cullen finally dropped his hands and turned toward the offending young man.

"You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana's report."

Cullen only growled out a low, threatening, "What?" as he advanced on the man. The messenger, still clueless, carried on.

"Sister Leliana's report. You wanted it delivered 'without delay.'"

Despite her self-consciousness and frustration, she couldn't help feeling a tiny bit sorry for the messenger who now undoubtedly faced a death stare. Cullen said nothing further, but she could see from the way he continued to move threateningly toward the young man that it would be enough to scare him senseless. She looked away awkwardly as the messenger glanced in her direction and then heard him mumble something about taking the report to Cullen's office. He quickly backed away and then turned and practically ran for the door.

It didn't matter, though. Overwhelming disappointment crashed through her again as she took in his tense back, his curled fists. The messenger had ruined the mood, and Cullen would likely want to see the report. They would have to find another time - if... if he still _wanted_ to find another time. Creators, what if he changed his mind? She looked away from him even as he turned toward her once more, the disappointment dipping into resignation and a touch of despair.

"If you need to-"

Cullen's response halted all coherent thought as his body lunged for hers and his hungry lips crashed into her own, swallowing the rest of her words as well as her gasp of surprise. Her initial surprise quickly faded, however, and she melted into his embrace while reaching around to grasp onto his mantle. Her world narrowed to that singular moment, the demands of his slightly chapped lips on hers, the tiny growl in the back of his throat as she pressed even closer, the gentle scrape of a leathered palm cupping her cheek, the dig of his fingers into her hip - digits desperate to hold on as if she might slip from his grasp or fade into nothing. He tilted her head up even as he bent down to further curl his body around her and roughly coaxed her lips to move in time with his. She'd never been kissed in such a passionate and forceful way before, and she felt the pull of his lips straight to her core, the tingling goose bumps spreading over her entire body in a symphony of touches, tastes and sounds.

_This. This is what I want. All I ever want. And, oh, it was so worth every minute of waiting!_

A few seconds or minutes later - she could hardly keep track - he broke the kiss. Her lips felt gloriously bruised from his assault on them, her every sense heightened by his closeness, his touch. His ragged breathing matched her own, but as he pulled back to meet her gaze, she could see her old enemy in his eyes - doubt. Panic welled up in her chest, her fingers twining desperately with his mantle as if to hold him, to keep him, and she swallowed hard as he murmured out an apology.

"I'm sorry... that was... uh... really nice."

As he spoke, his worried expression turned to a small smile, but his demeanor left her unsure. The frightened words tumbled over her lips before she could stop them.

"You don't regret it, do you?"

The astonishment that crossed his handsome features quelled her panic a bit. Still, her heart beat rapidly, a specter of loss and wretched rejection hanging over her shoulder.

"What?" he asked in a surprised tone. "No! No... not at all."

Instantly, the ghost of unwelcome memories fled, and she smiled up at him in relief. As if to emphasize his assertions, he gently tipped her chin up and claimed her lips again. Where the first kiss had been all desperation and want, this kiss emerged as gentle, tentative and exploring. He brushed his lips over hers - once, twice - before settling his lips more firmly and moving to lightly pull at her lower lip. Her hands clung tighter to his mantle as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against him. He slid the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips as if requesting access, and she tentatively opened to him. She'd seen such things before, of course, but she never could've imagined the glorious feel of his tongue licking into her mouth as he began exploring. He tasted of tea and honey and something distinctly _him_ , and the deep ache in her belly dropped lower. Before she could stop herself, she sighed lustily into his mouth.

He broke away to rest his forehead against hers, his shoulders rising and falling with deep, tremulous breaths. His body wrapped protectively around hers, and a hoarse voice sent shivers down her spine when he finally spoke.

"Maker's breath... Evana..."

He pulled back, and his eyes raked over her face in naked admiration. The sensuous way her name slid over his lips chased away any remaining doubts she might've had about his desires. He truly _cared_ for her. Enough to kiss her like... like _that_. Creators have mercy, now that she'd experienced such kisses, she thought she'd never be able to live without them.

A door slammed shut somewhere along the battlements, and her thoughts turned abruptly to their precarious position. Surely he wouldn't wish to be seen by his soldiers?

"Cullen," she breathed. "I don't want to move, but... we _are_ out on the battlements."

He closed his eyes and smiled. "Hmmm, yes. Where everyone can see us."

She raised an eyebrow in surprise at his calm reaction. "Exactly."

"Is it awful that I don't care right now? I know I will later, but..."  
  
A strange, weighty kind of joy pushed out of her heart to inflate her chest. She stood on the tips of her toes and gently brushed a kiss across his scruffy chin.

"It's OK. But just know that I hereby give you permission to kiss me whenever you like."

He opened his eyes again, and a flash of surprise crossed his face before it morphed into a smirk and a quirked brow. "Whenever? That could be dangerous."

"No, it won't. I know you too well. You'd be too embarrassed to do anything really risqué."

He leaned forward, his eyes soft and teasing. "Hmmm... perhaps you're right... or perhaps I'll make it my mission to kiss you in every room in Skyhold." Her eyes widened slightly, and he chuckled. "As long as we're the only ones in the room."

She laughed, too. He sighed, leaned down to brush a kiss across her willing lips and then tightened his arms around her.

"I just want to savor this moment," he whispered.

Every press of his lips against hers made it harder to think, but _that_ sentiment she could process easily. "Me, too, ma vhenan."

Cullen gave her a half smile, the scar on his upper lip crinkling seductively. "I suppose I can ask what that means now?"

She startled a little at his question. Hazy memories of the night she returned from Crestwood floated through her consciousness, and she tinged red.

"Oh... um... it means 'my heart.' It's a term of endearment for a..." She paused to look away shyly, then looked back at him out of the corner of her eye. "... for a lover."

She saw Cullen swallow, and his face went serious. "You called me that the night you came back from Crestwood. That and ma vhenan'ara. My heart something...?"

Her face burned hotter in embarrassment. So she _had_ said something to him.

"I- I did? I said ma vhenan'ara? It means... um... 'my heart's desire'... I thought maybe I'd said something to you, but I couldn't quite remember. And then you didn't say anything, so I thought I must've dreamed it."

"And I didn't want to embarrass you by asking what it meant." He let out a breathless laugh. "I didn't know if you even knew who you were talking to at the time. I'll have to get better at this language of yours..." He paused and then quirked an eyebrow at her, his expression a mixture of teasing and boyish shyness. "So... I'm your heart's desire?"

If she blushed any hotter, she'd likely combust. Even still, his kisses had bolstered her confidence, and she raised herself up on her toes to whisper in his ear.

"Of course, ma vhenan."

His eyes had fluttered closed by the time she lowered herself to look in his face. The tender look he gave her when he finally opened them again made her positively melt. She gazed into his honey eyes, and he kissed her yet again, this time a lingering, soft kiss that spoke of more to come. His hands shifted slightly, gloved fingers kneading into her back. _Ecstasy._

As he broke the kiss, she asked tentatively, "Will you... come by my quarters tonight? For tea?"

He nodded, and his lips pressed into hers one final time before reluctantly moving away from her. They walked together, back to their usual comfortable silence but now with an added undercurrent of joy and contentment. It was done, and he _did_ care. She barely contained a dance of elation as they leisurely walked along, side by side. She stopped when they came to the stairs leading down to the upper courtyard.

"I have to meet with Josephine and Solas today, but I should be in my quarters going over reports by seven or eight. Any time after that..."

"I'll try to make it sooner rather than later," he assured her as he raised a hand to cup her cheek.

"Good."

She gave him a shy smile and reluctantly pulled away from his touch. The overwhelming lightness inside quickly subsumed the momentary sense of loss, and she skipped down the steps to her lesson with Josephine. She didn't think she'd tell the ambassador about this quite yet. It was nice having a bit of a secret... for now. The way gossip spread in the insular community, it surely wouldn't be long before all of Skyhold knew. They probably shouldn't have kissed so long on the battlements.

She couldn't really bring herself to regret it, though. Creators, just thinking about his lips on hers, the feel of his scar under her mouth and his hands massaging her back... heat crept into her face even as she tried to put on a professional facade for her meeting with Josephine.

Leliana was leaning on the edge of Josephine's desk when Evana entered, and the look on the spymaster's face burst Evana's hopeful if naïve bubble of secrecy. She tried to quell the extra surge of dislike for that particular messenger.

"Well, hellooo, Inquisitor."

Leliana's sing-songy tone said everything. Evana used every trick in Josephine's book she could think of and managed to retain an innocent expression.

"Hello, Leliana," she returned with a cheerful smile. "I didn't expect to see you here today."

Both the women raised an eyebrow - Leliana in disbelief and Josephine in astonished pleasure. But Evana was up against the best. They'd break her eventually. Sighing, she took a seat in her usual chair by the fire.

"Well, this seems like a good learning opportunity. If I want to remain secretive, but not let people around me know I'm keeping secrets, how would I go about that?"

Josephine's mouth quirked in amusement, but she took the matter seriously nonetheless. "Well, you'd flatter and pander mostly, then gradually turn the conversation to another topic, preferably a controversial one."

"I would simply have my spies poison whoever had the gall to ask too many questions."

Josephine laughed and lightly smacked Leliana on the arm. "Oh! You most certainly would not. You would weave your words around this way and that until no one had any memory of the previous conversation."

Leliana nodded. "Perhaps you're right. But that tactic won't work for our Inquisitor because I already _know_ the secret. I just need her to spill the juicy details."

Evana finally gave up and buried her face in her hands. The two women giggled - actually giggled - and Evana mumbled through her hands, "What do you know?"

Leliana gladly filled her in. "Well, I know that you and our ruggedly handsome Commander have been spending quite a bit of time together... alone. And then my petrified messenger tells me he found you two looking rather... _close_ on the battlements."

Evana let her hands drop to her lap but didn't look up. "You'd best not tell Cullen. Did your messenger happen to tell you he nearly got thrown over the battlements for interrupting?"

"Interrupting? Interrupting _what_?" Josephine breathed.

Evana got goose bumps all over again as she remembered his embrace - his kisses. She couldn't keep the embarrassed grin from her face.

Leliana pointed at her and let loose a triumphant, "Ah ha!"

Evana threw up her hands in mock surrender, still grinning stupidly. "Alright, fine! Dorian and Cole convinced me to - to take the risk and tell Cullen how I felt. When I asked if he could care for me - a mage - he said he could... Or rather that he _did_. Then... we... I mean, after an interruption from a clueless young messenger..."

She sighed. Why was it so hard to put this into words?

"Then he kissed me. And it was the most transcendent thing I've ever experienced."

Josephine squeaked in excitement, but Leliana's voice betrayed her surprise. "He... just kissed you?"

Evana finally looked up, brows furrowed. "Just? No, not just. He... _kissed_ me as I've never been kissed before. I don't know how to explain it any better."

Leliana still seemed confused. "But, you two had kissed before, no? I mean, all those late nights..."

"What? No! We've been good friends since Haven, but never anything more. I mean, there was the one time I thought he _might_ kiss me, but other than that..."

Leliana smirked. "So, that was your first kiss? On the battlements where everyone can see you? The dirty dog. I didn't know he had it in him!"

Evana smiled and absently wondered if she'd ever stop blushing today. "I thought of that. It was somewhat... sudden, though. He couldn't have known exactly what I was going to say. He might have had an idea, but I'm sure he didn't really plan on kissing me there. It just... happened."

Leliana hummed. "You two are such a mystery to me sometimes, but I'll admit that you are perfect for each other. Neither of you makes a move without thinking on it for at least four times as long as a normal person."

Evana shrugged. "It seems to have worked for us so far."

Josephine sighed dreamily. "Yes, it has." A twinkle in the ambassador's eye put Evana on guard. "And now that you two are together..."

Evana sighed. "Can you give us some time before you start in with the teasing?"

The both shook their heads and Leliana gave her a firm, "Not on your life."

"Well, at least I asked... and remember, I said a _little bit_!"

"We'll see," Leliana intoned as she left the room for her rookery.

Josephine gathered her things and came over to sit in front of the fire with Evana. She regarded Evana curiously for a moment before speaking in a more serious tone.

"So despite everything, you've decided to be with Cullen?"

Evana nodded and shifted to a more upright posture. She could tell that the ambassador thought the whole thing rather romantic, but there were also practical concerns. Now that Evana had taken this step, there were things she needed to know. Josephine seemed like the best person to ask. Surely the worldly woman who had spent so much time in Orlais would know the best way to go about this kind of thing.

"I do have a small question, though."

Josephine smiled softly as she nodded for Evana to continue. Evana took a deep breath and tried to think of a good way to introduce the topic. Nothing subtle came to mind, so she just said it.

"How do I... prevent myself from becoming pregnant? Not that we are," she added quickly. "I mean, obviously. We only just kissed. If he wants to, I would, but... that is..." She sighed at her babbling and ended lamely with, "That's not the point."

Evana dropped her head into her hands to cover her embarrassment. Josephine had the decency not to laugh, but she could tell the ambassador was highly amused by Evana's discomfort.

"Have you... never been with a man, then?"

Evana's head shot up. "Oh, yes. Of course. I mean, I was bonded for almost three years, but elves - well, it's difficult for elves to become pregnant to begin with, and we are so few in number that any child is looked upon as a gift. To deliberately prevent a pregnancy would be an affront to our gods and culture."

Josephine looked a little shocked. "You were bonded? I didn't know. I mean, not that it makes a difference... unless... unless you are _still_..."

"No, no, he died more than five years ago in the... the attack I told you about."

"I'm so sorry."

Evana smiled wanly. "It was a long time ago."

Josephine quickly took the hint and directed the conversation back to the original topic. "Of course. After our lesson, I will show you the various methods popular with Antivan and Orlesian women. The most effective is a tea you drink daily. I believe we already have some in supply for our troops, so it should be easy to acquire here in Skyhold."

Evana sighed with relief. "Oh, thank you! As I mentioned, I'm not familiar with this particular part of the process."

"Well, forgive my candor, but if you two take as long to bed each other as you took to kiss, you'll have plenty of time to learn about it."

Evana blushed furiously yet again and looked at the papers in Josephine's hands. "Oh, look at that! It's time for our lesson!"

Josephine giggled but thankfully took the hint and started in with the lesson. The rest of the afternoon flew by, her lessons with Josephine and practice with Solas taking all her concentration. Even still, her thoughts often drifted back to that kiss on the battlements, which lead into sensual daydreams of what the evening might bring.

Finally, the day's activities ended, and she returned to her quarters. She quickly changed into a loose, scoop-necked tunic dress and a pair of wool leggings and stretched out on her couch in front of the fire. It was a little after eight, but she didn't feel tired at all. The anticipation of the evening ahead made it especially difficult to concentrate, but she eventually worked through all the day's reports and even managed to complete a final report on her recent trip to Redcliffe. She set it on her desk to dry and picked up a book Leliana had lent her on Orlesian customs. The first few pages left her bored to tears, so she closed the book and leaned back on her couch. She'd just close her eyes for a moment and then get back to work.

She woke to the sound of footsteps on her stairs and a quiet, tentative, "Evana?"

Confused, she sat up and turned to face Cullen as his head peeked over the banister looking toward her bed. Running fingers through her mussed hair, she called back.

"Over here."

His expression reflected a deep sadness as he walked over to her and knelt on the floor in front of her. "I apologize for being so late, but we received word this evening that the entire unit that had been patrolling the stretch of road between here and Redcliffe was killed. I needed to arrange for reinforcements... and let their families know."

Evana closed her eyes, her heart dropping to her stomach. "Oh, no."

She quickly opened her eyes again and placed a hand on Cullen's cheek. News of any deaths always hit him hard. She'd learned that after her first trip to the Hinterlands when a few of the soldiers had perished in the skirmishes. His reaction at their war council meeting afterwards and the fervor with which he'd buried himself in his work afterwards had told her all she needed to know about how much he cared for the men and women in his charge. She also knew the unexpected losses were the ones that hit him hardest. He would blame himself for this - for not anticipating it. She could only be grateful he'd chosen to come to her anyway, to lean on her, to accept her comfort, to share this grief with her instead of burying it away under a load of reports.

He leaned into her hand heavily, taking his turn to close his eyes. Then, slowly - hesitantly - as if allowing her the opportunity to pull away, he leaned forward to gather her into his arms. She silently wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rested a hand on the back of his head, and he buried his face in her neck. His arms tightened as she felt him breathe deeply against her skin. They simply held each other for a long moment before he finally pulled away, raised himself off the floor and moved her kettle to the fire. She gathered up the papers strewn all over the couch, set everything in a neat pile on the floor, and stood up to help him with the tea. They moved in silence, taking part in a dance that became more familiar, more comforting each time they repeated it - kettle, mugs, gloves, leaves. She caught his eye, and he smiled weakly at her.

When they'd prepared everything, she set the mugs on a table in front of the couch and patted the seat next to her. He quickly removed his mantle, unsnapped his cuirass and pulled off his pauldrons. He sank into the middle of the couch and relaxed into the plush material with a tired sigh. After a moment, Evana tentatively reached for his hand, turning his arm to work the buckles of his vambrace. The straps were tight but well worn and therefore fairly easy to release. He leaned his head against the back of the couch and watched her work, saying nothing as the vambrace and attached arm piece dropped to the rug. Raising herself on her knees, she leaned over him and did the same to his other arm.

She hesitated. Part of her - the love-sick youth part of her - wanted to straddle him and comfort him with kisses until they both lost all control. The other, more rational, part of her knew that was a bad idea right now. Cullen had been watching her the whole time and finally reached up with his gloriously ungloved hand and pulled her against him. Her back pressed against his side, and his arm wrapped around her front and rested lightly on her collarbone while his hand closed around her shoulder and upper arm. He kissed the top of her head, and she leaned into him, reveling in the warmth and firmness of his body behind her.

Being able to touch him like this, with familiarity and comfort, was almost more than she could bear. The invisible barrier of professionalism and propriety - the barrier that had existed between them and barred them from such intimate physical closeness for so long - had disappeared. She found it both exciting and terrifying. She'd never really done anything like this before.

A few more minutes of silence passed before she heard the kettle boiling and stood up to pour water into their mugs. He'd raised his arm to the back of the couch, so when she returned to hand him a mug, she sat down beside him and pulled her legs up to hug her knees to herself. Now that she _could_ touch him, she found herself wondering if he would find her too needy if she always _did_. He quickly lowered his arm, however, and she found herself pressed to his side. The contented sigh escaped her lips before she could stop it.

"Comfortable?"

His voice rumbled through her arm where it rested on his side, and she looked up at him and nodded.

"You?" she asked.

He just nodded and gazed at her for a moment as a slew of emotions played across his face. Reaching up to draw his face down to hers, she kissed him lightly and whispered, "Ir abelas, ma vhenan."

Instead of responding, he rested his forehead against hers. Finally, he whispered back, "Ma serannas."

"Do you want to speak about it?"

"I-" he pulled away slightly and gave her a half smile. "Just being here with you - it is enough. Your... presence comforts me."

She smiled and lightly kissed him again before turning back to the fire. Despite how her heart raced at his nearness, she kept her actions chaste and comforting as she tentatively placed a hand on his outer thigh. They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping on their tea. Occasionally, she would look up at him, and he'd give her a soft kiss. Each time, she saw the tension and sadness in his face ease a bit more.

After one such moment, she put her feet back on the floor and leaned forward to put her half-full mug on the table. The watch called out the eleventh hour. She felt him shift behind her as he leaned forward as well, placing his mug on the table beside hers while resting his other hand lightly on the small of her back. She turned to find a peaceful look on his face, and her heart swelled.

"Evana?"

"I'm fine -" she said, pointing at the mug, "just not ready to go to sleep, yet."

He gave her a half smile as the peaceful look gave way to something else entirely. "No?"

"No."

Her heart began pumping double time as she loosely wrapped her arms around his neck. She paused to judge his reaction. His half smile faded as he pulled her against him. His head bent towards hers, and she met him halfway.

All chasteness fled as they came together. His lips pressed into hers softly and repeatedly, changing angles as if testing her reactions. As he explored her lips, she sighed tremulously and tightened her arms around his neck, relishing her ability to touch him. He responded by pulling her more tightly against his chest, his muscular arms flexing deliciously around her body. His hands moved slowly across her back, fingers kneading into her muscles, lips drinking from her as if she were a well in the middle of the desert.

Suddenly, he reached under her and pulled her up so she sat sideways on his lap. Her fingers threaded up and into his soft curls, kissing him harder as his hands continued to stroke her back. She could feel the heat pooling between her legs and moaned softly into his mouth. However, instead of causing him to break the kiss as it had earlier that day, her vocalization seemed to urge him onward. At the feel of the tip of his tongue running along her bottom lip, she opened her mouth to him, and he delved into her. Unfamiliar with the intricacies, she tentatively touched his tongue with hers, and a surge of desire pumped through her when he moaned softly and slanted his mouth more fully over hers. She became bolder, licking into his mouth in the same way he had with her, and his arms tightened even more as he growled his approval. He held her so tightly against him, she felt his heart pounding against her own chest, and their ragged breathing mingled in the otherwise silent room. A trembling hand moved down her back and around to her hip, digging into the soft wool, trying to pull her even closer.

Finally, his mouth moved away from hers, and he began trailing kisses across her jaw. She shivered in ecstasy at the feel of his lips against her sensitive flesh. When he reached her ear, he ran his lips lightly around the shell, and a surge of electricity shot through her body. She half gasped, half moaned his name and arched into him as pleasure diffused through her limbs, leaving her weak with need. She felt a slight tremor and heard a breathless chuckle as he pulled back to look at her with surprise. The naked want in his eyes made her shiver.

"Elven ears are... sensitive," she offered weakly.  
  
"Mmmm..." he murmured in response. "I'll have to remember that..."

She blushed at the heat in his tone, but his mouth had already claimed hers yet again. The hand he'd rested on her hip now tentatively moved up under her loose top, fingers sliding along the bare skin of her waist and leaving a trail of searing heat in their wake. Creators, she wanted his hands _all over_ her.

His mouth broke from hers again, this time to trail kisses down her neck, his ragged breaths hot and heavy on her skin. She hummed in appreciation as his tentative hands slid a little higher and around to her back. His calluses raked across the small of her back as his mouth reached the hollow of her throat, and the hoarseness in his voice only heightened her arousal as he breathed against her neck.

"Maker, Evana..."

"Cullen... please," she gasped breathlessly.

She hardly knew what she was begging him for. She only knew she wanted more. He groaned into her throat and then began trailing kisses along her exposed collarbone. She felt his other hand slide under her tunic and tentatively up her back.

_Oh, gods, yes._

He flattened his hands against her back and slid them up and down her bare skin. "This?"

She vaguely registered his voice, low ragged against her skin, and realized she must have actually said the words out loud.

"Yes, vhenan," she gasped in return as his bare hands sent tingles and thrills shooting through her entire body. "Oh... _yes_."

She'd try to remember to be embarrassed later. Right now, his hands left her completely muddled, and she could only think to get as many layers out from between them as possible. Sliding her fingers out of his hair, down his magnificent shoulders and then to his chest, she began working on the buckles of his doublet. He pulled away slightly as he realized her intent, and his hands left her back to deftly released the clasps even as he continued to press kisses to her lips, cheeks, jaw and neck. Finally, he shrugged off the doublet, and another sharp ache pulsed between her legs as she smoothed greedy hands down the hard planes of his chest covered only by the thin fabric of his tunic. Creators, the man was _perfect_.

His mouth slanted over hers desperately as his hands slid back under her tunic to glide up her back sensually. He breathed broken praises and whispered his need into her mouth, setting her on fire wherever he touched her. She could feel his hand trembling as it slid around to rest on her ribs, and his thumb swept up and down, grazing the bottom edge of her breast band.

Creators, she wanted him so badly. She'd never experienced this kind of urgency before. She knew she should slow down, but every caress, every movement, every gasp of her name on his lips pushed her further over the edge. She couldn't seem to get enough of it - enough of him. She moved to trail kisses of her own across his cheek and jaw as her hands ran over his stomach and around to his back, appreciating the defined mass of muscles under her greedy fingers. He groaned again as his own hands continued a slightly bolder search, running over the curve of her ass, down her outer thigh and back up under her tunic to the bare skin of her ribs. This time, his thumb slid under the bottom edge of her breast band to sweep a callused pad against the sensitive underside of her breast. She gasped out her approval and leaned into the touch, encouraging him onward as she tasted his skin, salty yet sweet, and worked her way to his earlobe. She pulled at it gently with her teeth even as her hands slid under his tunic to touch his heated skin. The hiss of a curse in her ear told her she was on the right track, but his body stilled as he suddenly swept his arms around her and crushed her against him. He pulled in several deep breaths to calm himself before his voice rumbled in her ear, soft but tense. 

"Evana... we should... slow down."

She stiffened slightly in his arms and pushed against his chest to look at him, her lust-addled brain slowly coming back down to earth.

"You don't want...? I thought... That is..."

Her face began to burn hot with embarrassment, and the all-too-familiar feeling of rejection pulsed through her. _Not again. Not with him. Please._ She looked away and worked to control the tears pricking at her eyes. He wasn't Hanir. There had to be another reason. She shouldn't - couldn't make him feel guilty for the actions of another. Keeping her emotions in check, she quickly fumbled off his lap to sit on the couch next to him and laughed tremulously.

"Oh... I- I seem to have gotten carried away. M-my apologies."

He gently pulled her back to him and cupped her face with his hand, trying catch her gaze. She half-heartedly attempted to pull away, closing her eyes to concentrate on her already tremulous breathing. She _would not_ cry in front of him again. Not about this.

"Maker! Evana, please don't think... it's not because..." He let out a sigh of frustration. "I'm sorry. I'm not very good at this."

With his words to distract her, she could finally open her eyes. She watched him swallow and take a deep breath, his face twisted with worry.

"It's _not_ because I don't want more. I _very much_ want... well... you." His voice fell into a harsh whisper. "Maker... _all_ of you."

Despite her lingering self doubt and embarrassment, she gave him a small smile. She couldn't bring herself to speak, but when he kissed her lightly, she kissed him back. He pulled back, his eyes brimming with a deep emotion that called out to her and made her aching heart sing in response.

"But I want to get this right - get _us_ right - even more." He rested his forehead against hers. "I want this to work... More than... more than I've ever wanted _anything_. And I think that means... It means I need us to take this slowly."

Evana felt the tears pricking at her eyes again, this time for an entirely different reason, and she fought wildly to hold them back. He was worried about making their relationship work? She pulled back and looked into his eyes.

"Of course, Cullen. You're... you're my best friend, you know. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure you're comfortable. I just want you to be happy, vhenan."

His thumb brushed across her bottom lip, and she thought the look on his face might break her heart - all the vulnerability and raw emotion laid bare for her to see.

"I've never been happier. Never in my life," he whispered.

She closed her eyes and leaned into the hand that still cupped her face. "Me neither."

And it was true. In all her life, she'd never felt like she fit in. Now, here among this motley crew of elves and dwarves and humans and qunari, she finally felt like she had a place. Cullen was the final piece of the puzzle that snapped everything together. In a desperate situation, her new friends had rallied around her to create a force to rival even a thousand-year-old darkspawn magister. She'd taken his mages, she'd foiled his plan to kill everyone at Haven, and soon she would stop him from murdering an empress. The idea of doing any of that without Cullen's quiet, solid support frightened the daylights out of her.  
  
She opened her eyes and found him studying her. His gaze reflected what she now knew to be desire and appreciation - a look she'd seen in his eyes too many times to count - and it made her curious.

"Today, when you kissed me on the battlements - how long had you wanted to do that?"

Cullen's eyes flicked to the side as he laughed softly. "Longer than I should admit."

"That I'm Dalish - an elf - never bothered you?"

He grunted and furrowed his brows. "I hadn't considered... elves weren't treated differently in the Circles I served. I- I didn't think what it might mean to you. I hope it doesn't... I mean, _does_ it, bother you... that I'm not?"

A few months ago, her answer would have been very different. But now? Knowing the kind of man he was? She didn't even hesitate.

"No. If you care for me, that's all that matters. I wasn't trying to put you on the spot."

His shoulders relaxed a bit. "If I seem unsure, it's because it's been a long time since I wanted _anyone_ in my life. I wasn't expecting to find that here. Or you."

She took a deep breath and leaned in closer to him. "Well, as you've decided to be coy, shall I tell you how long _I've_ wanted to kiss _you_ , then?"

His smile faded and a smoldering look flitted through his eyes. He cleared his throat.

"Perhaps we should rearrange ourselves so we don't... uh... get carried away again."

She pulled back and took a moment to adjust her tunic. Cullen was right, of course. They needed to make sure they built a strong relationship. She wasn't in this for the short term. Even as her stomach twisted a bit at the thought, she knew it to be the truth. She held out the tiniest bit of hope that her clan would make an exception and be accepting, but even if they weren't, he was the best friend she'd ever had. As long as he cared - as long as he still wanted her in his life - she wasn't about to give that up.

Once he'd arranged himself on the couch, he reached for her again, tucking her neatly into his side as he had done earlier that evening. She leaned her head on his chest and felt it rumble as he prompted her.

"You were saying?"

She laughed outright. "Right. Yes... Well, I first thought about what it might be like to kiss you after I returned from my first trip to Val Royeaux. I was angry with you, but that scar of yours is distractingly alluring, you know?"

She lifted her head, reached up to his lip and traced a finger down the length of the scar. He lightly kissed her finger as one side of his mouth quirked upward.

"You were angry with me?"

"Of course. You kept going on about templars, and I only wanted to go get the mages and close the Breach. But then there you were, bringing me dinner and talking with me patiently about your life, and I found I wasn't angry, just insanely attracted to you. I chalked it up to being a bit tipsy from the ale - and to Varric putting ideas in my head."

Cullen's voice was warm and teasing. "Well, I guess I owe Varric a debt of gratitude. Is that why you asked all those questions about my vows?"

She felt her face turn hot at the memory. "Up to a point, I was legitimately curious about the templar life. I wanted to understand what kind of organization could hold such loyalty. But I think your nearness muddled my brain, and that's really my only defense there at the last. I wasn't really aware of what I was asking until it was too late. At the time, though, I still planned to leave after closing the Breach, so I didn't take any of it seriously."

She felt his chest expand as he drew in a breath. "You _were_ planning to leave, then."

"After closing the Breach, yes. But Redcliffe changed all that."

"Redcliffe... and the future you saw there?"

She nodded. "Yes. It's also when I began thinking of the Inquisition as more than just a necessary evil - a means to an end. I - I began to let myself think of you all as real friends. You in particular, of course."

"I'm glad."

She smiled and snuggled more deeply into the crook of his arm. "That wasn't when I first really _wanted_ to kiss you, though. It was in your tent, after I'd returned from the Fallow Mire. You were mad at me and Cassandra for letting Captain Rylen in on the hand-to-hand combat training, and I was mad at you for interrupting. There was a moment, after we had talked things out but before I went to get you tea for the first time. Do you remember?"

"Yes, I remember very vividly," he murmured softly into her hair.  
  
"I had my hand on your face, and you... I thought you lowered your head just a little bit. You were looking at me like no one had ever looked at me before. And I remember thinking for the first time how desperately I wanted to kiss you. I thought about it _a lot_ after that."

She felt him swallow, and his breathing became slightly uneven. "I did almost kiss you that night."

Pushing away from his chest, she searched his face. "Truly?"

He nodded a little sheepishly. "And that wasn't even close to the first time I _wanted_ to kiss you."

She fought it, but she couldn't help the grin that spread across her face at his admission. She turned slightly to face him and rested her cheek on his arm to gaze up at him.

"Oh? Do tell me more, Ser Rutherford."

He sighed, but then smiled down at her. "The first time was outside your quarters before we'd even sent you to the Hinterlands... after we'd talked in the tavern. It was the first time you hadn't looked at me as though I might strike you down at any moment."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "But you'd only known me a couple of weeks!"

"Yes, I know," he said, a chagrinned tone coloring his words. "You were thanking me for listening to you talk about your clan, and I could only think about your lips."

He reached up to cup her face and rub his thumb across her bottom lip. "I wrote it off as an ill-advised infatuation, but by the time you came back from the Fallow Mire, I knew it was more than that. I've always been flustered by women - especially beautiful women like you - but I could tell even then that this was... different. I determined to keep my distance." He snorted derisively. "And that worked for two whole days. Then I nearly kissed you in my tent, and I knew there was no use trying to ignore it. I simply resolved to wait until all this was over and see where we stood after that."

She smiled softly at him. "You think I'm beautiful?"

He gave her a disbelieving look and ran his fingertips down the side of her cheek. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

She exhaled in surprise. He cared for her, to be sure, but this... "I've gotten a little more used to it, but it's still somewhat strange to hear people say that. In my clan, I was considered 'uniquely' pretty at best. Many of the boys simply called me plain."

He looked at her hesitantly as if he wanted to ask something but then smiled and merely said, "That may be one thing I'll never understand about elven culture, then. There's nothing plain about you. You're perfect."

A wry half smile tugged at the corner of her mouth even as her cheeks flamed. "Flatterer."

He leaned down and kissed her softly and slowly. She could sense the smoldering passion just beneath the surface, but he kept it neatly contained as he gently brushed over her lips, his fingers lightly caressing her cheek. Finally, he raised his head.

"I am only speaking the truth. You can always count on me to be honest with you."

She hummed contentedly. "Yes, I know. It's one of the many things I..." She stopped, and her eyes widened a little bit at her near slip of the tongue. "One of the things I like most about you, ma vhenan," she finished hurriedly.

He leaned down again and kissed her more deeply. This time she felt his veneer of control crack a little bit. He broke the kiss, and the sound of uneven breathing once again filled the room.

"I think... I should go."

She nodded and laughed a little. "Um... perhaps we should avoid being alone together like this? At least for a time."

He laughed with her as he stood and pulled her off the couch and into his arms once more. "You could come see me in my office any time. As you said before... I'm never alone there."

"Yes... I could bring my work there sometimes. We could be in each other's company and productive at the same time... if that wouldn't be too distracting?"

"It will be," he admitted, "but we'll get used to it. And I'd rather have you near me than constantly wondering in the back of my mind where you are. I do enough of that when you're _away_ from Skyhold."

She hummed thoughtfully. "The Commander of the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste... We'll have people talking... If they aren't already talking about our... display on the battlements."

Cullen sighed. "You wouldn't believe how quickly gossip spreads through the barracks."

She was only half joking when she responded, "Does it bother you?"

"I would rather my - _our_ \- private affairs remain that way... But, if there were nothing here for people to talk about, I would regret it more."

"Ok then, it's settled. We can work something out when I return. Ma serannas, Cullen."

She didn't think she'd ever tire of feeling his arms around her. The easy strength and feel of his hands on her back made her tingle all over. She knotted her hands around his neck and pulled him down for another - a final, she told herself - kiss. Instead of leaning down to her, however, he tightened his arms and lifted her from the ground. Her feet dangled in the air as the full length of her body melted against his, and the giggle that slipped from her lips died out as she recognized exactly how much of him she could feel. She tried to temper her reaction to feeling the proof of his desire for her, but she couldn't help the tiny gasp as his arousal pressed into her thigh. _No, he's nothing like Hanir,_ she thought as he let her slowly slide to the ground before pulling his mouth from hers, chuckling breathlessly.

"I _really_ need to go," he murmured.

She smiled at him as she picked up and handed him his doublet from the couch. As he put it on, she gathered up his vambraces and gloves. He lifted his cuirass and snapped it into place.

"It feels a little silly to put all my armor back on just to walk across Skyhold to take it back off again."

She didn't respond but did raise an eyebrow. He caught her gaze, and she saw the moment he also caught the direction of her thoughts. He snickered and tinged a little pink as he strapped on the vambraces and reattached his pauldrons and mantle. They walked hand-in-hand down the steps to her door.

"Goodnight, Cullen."

She winked at him, and he just shook his head and kissed her long and slow. By the time he pulled away, her knees were shaking, and she wondered briefly if she'd have to crawl back up the steps. Cullen merely bowed and kissed the back of her hand lightly.

"Goodnight, my lady."

"Evana," she whispered.

He'd already walked through the the door but paused before he closed it to look her up and down. One side of his mouth quirked upward, and his low tone sent shivers down her spine.

"Evana."

Then he closed the door behind him, and she listened to his steps recede into the distance, her heart more full and more _his_ than ever before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, with the close bond they've already developed at this point (and all that sexual tension crackling between them) I had to find a different reason they might want to wait before jumping into bed. Cullen's issues - his past as well as the very real danger of the withdrawal - seemed like pretty good reasons he'd want to take things slowly. Evana has her own issues, as well, and he can sense that even if he doesn't know what they are, yet. They have plenty to work through as a couple in the coming chapters.
> 
> So, yes, this will remain a canon-compliant telling of DA:I. But never fear, the smooches and tooth-rotting couple fluff are here to stay!
> 
> Also, I'm a sucker for the "When did you ____?" type of get together. So that part is totally self-indulgent fluff because I love it when couples reveal how long they've actually been into each other. I've a weakness for that particular trope.


	32. In which purpose and duty insert themselves once more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition plans out their next steps, even as Josephine receives distressing news from Val Royeaux. In the meantime, a friendship is solidified.

The Inquisitor was late. Cullen stood beside Josephine, looking determinedly at the war table, but she could see from the light tinge of pink on his cheeks that he either _knew_ the reason... or _was_ the reason. More than that, she couldn't tell. She half expected a comment from Leliana, but the spymaster, standing with arms folded in front of her and one eyebrow cocked, didn't seem in a hurry.

Finally, they heard the outer door open and close. The ensuing silence only confirmed it to be their Inquisitor. She could be rather stealthy when she wanted to be.

The war room door opened, and Josephine saw that the Inquisitor already sported a generous blush. Cullen looked up from the table for the first time that morning, and she saw his face turn a shade darker.

"Inquisitor," he began, "we were..."

Leliana pounced. "Eagerly awaiting your presence - some of us more than others..."

"I wasn't... I mean, I was..." He sighed and shot a dirty look at Leliana. "We have _work_ to do."

"Of course," intoned Leliana.

Josephine had to cover her mouth to stifle a giggle. A strange mixture of irritation and embarrassment contorted his features, and she didn't think she'd ever seen his face so red.

"Sorry I'm so late everyone," the Inquisitor apologized, a slight tremble in her voice. "I- I was up late last night... um... working on reports."

As if to back up her claim, the Inquisitor handed a stack of papers to Leliana, but the spymaster just winked at her. "I'm sure you were."

Josephine decided to take pity on the red-faced lovers and move things along. "Well... should we talk about the Western Approach?"

The Inquisitor and Commander spoke in unison. "Yes!"

And with that, they got down to business. Cullen pushed a detailed map of the region to the middle of the table.

"From Captain Rylen and Leliana's scouts' reports, we've come up with a few strategic camp points to hold the Western Approach, but the territory is more deadly than we thought. We've lost a few men already to poison springs and animal attacks. Rylen's troops are stretched to their limits holding the camps and dealing with wildlife, bandits and Venatori."

Leliana joined in and pointed to a few spots marked on the map. "We've found and recorded the locations of numerous rifts in the area. We have yet to see any evidence of Stroud and Hawke, but the location Stroud spoke of is marked here. You will want to head there first if you can."

"We've also found an old keep - Griffon Wing Keep - that has been overrun with bandits," Cullen added. "Our perimeter camps won't be enough to stabilize the area, but if we could take the keep, it would make an excellent command center. Lieutenant Rozellene is already on her way there with another contingent of soldiers to assist with the assault." Cullen looked up from the table. "I believe we're as prepared as we are ever going to be for this mission. You should meet with the Hawke and Stroud as soon as you can."

The Inquisitor nodded as Cullen spoke. "Understood. Once we find out what's going on with the Grey Wardens - and whether they've truly allied themselves with the Venatori - I will send word through Leliana's scouts. I hope we can deal with the issue then and there, but if not, we'll need to regroup. I'll leave tomorrow."

The advisors all nodded, and Josephine made a note to confirm their pre-arranged passage on a boat out of Jader. A brief silence fell around the table before Leliana spoke.

"As a side note, we have also received news about the shards you've been collecting. My contact Enchanter Renaud has found a connection between the shards and an ancient elven temple in the Western Approach. Depending on the Grey Warden situation, you may wish to investigate while you're there. I will send Scout Harding to the oasis to establish a camp and take a look once you have met with her in the Western Approach."

"Yes," Inquisitor agreed. "I'm curious as to what these shards mean. If it's something that can help us defeat Corypheus, we need to know about it. Thank you - both of you."

As always, Josephine was impressed by the calm practicality of the small elven mage when she spoke of Inquisition matters. She moved to the next topic.

"There is also the matter of acquiring an arcanist, your worship. A dwarf named Dagna has offered her services, and I've taken the liberty of setting up a meeting. She will be able to assist in crafting magical enchantments for your weapons."

The Inquisitor nodded, "I will meet with her. I have need of a new rune or two..." she lowered her voice as if speaking more to herself than to them, "though I should probably speak with Harritt first."

Josephine continued, "And the trainers we discussed before you left for Crestwood have arrived. You may speak with them at your convenience to learn more about what they can offer you."

"Thank you, Josephine. I will."

Leliana and Cullen shared a look, and after a moment, Leliana spoke. "Your Worship, you might remember the security issue a few days ago - the night before you left for Redcliffe?"

"Yes, of course. What was that all about?"

"Cole and Bull discovered an... unwelcome person at the tavern that night. He was incapacitated by Cole before he could attack, and we've since ascertained that he acted alone. I'm working with Cole, Bull and Cullen to come up with a screening method for anyone who comes to Skyhold. Between all of us, I hope to be able to keep this from happening again."

Josephine suppressed the shiver threatening to crawl down her spine. Leliana had informed her of the incident the day after it happened, but it still unsettled her. The Inquisitor, however, had a puzzled look on her face.

"Before he could attack? Do you mean...?"

"His plan was to assassinate you and then present himself to Corypheus for a reward," Leliana explained.

The Inquisitor swallowed and looked down for a moment before returning her gaze to Leliana. "And I made an easy target that night."

Leliana shook her head. "No one here is suggesting that you were wrong for relaxing or letting down your guard. It is our job to ensure you are safe to do so inside the walls of Skyhold. We are working on a better way to do that."

The Inquisitor nodded slowly. Leliana seemed to be finished, so Josephine shifted and pulled out another set of papers, eager to move on.

"We should also discuss the situation with Empress Celene."

"Yes, we have to reach the empress before Corypheus. The only question is: how?" Cullen added.

Josephine shook her head. "We know how. Thanks to the diligent work of our Inquisitor in meeting with and charming a variety of Orlesian nobles, I have our way in. The real question is: Where is our enemy hiding? At the urging of Grand Duchess Florianne, the empress is holding a ball. Absolutely everyone will be there. During the festivities, Celene will be meeting for peace talks with the usurper Duke Gaspard and Ambassador Briala."

"The assassin will be hiding within one of these factions," Leliana commented.

Josephine watched the Inquisitor shuffle her feet and knew what was coming. She and the elf had talked briefly about going to the ball, and as good as she was becoming at the game, their Inquisitor was still terrified of the prospect.

"Do we really need to go to the peace talks?" the Inquisitor asked timidly. "The empress must have personal guards. We could just warn her she's in danger..."

Josephine shrugged. "We've made the attempt, but..."

Leliana finished the thought. "It seems that our messages never reached her. Someone intercepted them."

Cullen looked at the Inquisitor with a tenderness Josephine had never seen in his face before. Josephine found herself turning away from the almost intimate look as Cullen spoke.

"As much as it pains me to admit it, it's better that we don't leave this to chance, Inquisitor. If Orlais falls to Corypheus, no land is safe." Then he turned to address Leliana. "With Gaspard and Celene's armies entrenched due to the civil war, I cannot openly march troops to the palace."

"My agents will ensure your soldiers get inside at Halamshiral," Leliana promised, "but it must be a few at a time to avoid attention."

"Understood," Cullen affirmed with a curt nod. "It sounds as if we have a tentative plan. The ball is scheduled for next month, correct?"

Josephine nodded. "Yes. A little more than six weeks away. We'll need to continue working on your dancing, Inquisitor. And Leliana, you should join us again for our lessons. Your familiarity with The Game is helpful as we prepare."

Leliana gave a curt nod. "I'd be happy to be of assistance. But who are you dancing with Inquisitor?"

Josephine stifled another giggle as the elf went pink again. "I've been _attempting_ to dance with Josephine and Dorian. At least I'm fairly graceful already. The steps are complicated, though."

"I don't mean to interfere with combat strategy in any way," Josephine inserted, "but perhaps Dorian should join you on your trip to the Western Approach. He can continue to work with you on your dancing skills."

The Inquisitor laughed heartily. "Oh, yes! Foil the demon army, dance, close some rifts, dance - or possibly close rifts while dancing? - take a bandit-infested keep, dance... Dorian will love it."

Cullen's smirk directed at the Inquisitor surprised Josephine. She'd thought the suggestion might make him jealous, but the Commander was not fazed in the least. Curious.

"Well, at least I have a timeline. I assume you all will make the necessary preparations in my absence." The Inquisitor stopped, then turned to Josephine with terror in her eyes. "I don't have to wear a _dress_ to this ball, do I? It's bad enough wearing that frilly nonsense around here for the nobles, but what if we have to fight? I'd set myself on fire. Can we come up with a practical uniform of some sort we can all wear?"

Josephine gave a little bow. "I've already anticipated you, Inquisitor. It's one of the things we'll be doing at our lesson today - a fitting for your uniform."

The Inquisitor let out a sigh of relief. "Bless you, Josephine. Any other updates?"

"Yes." Cullen spoke softly. "We've received word that the memorial at Haven is complete. My soldiers wished to convey their thanks to you, Inquisitor, for allowing them to assist in the construction. It helped build morale for both the troops and the people remaining in the area."

Cullen paused and everyone took a moment of silence to remember those lost in Haven. Then he spoke a bit louder, but his voice retained a soft edge.

"And we've received a note from a young man who claims to know the location of the remaining bandits that took out our patrol on the Imperial Highway. He seems eager to help."

The Inquisitor nodded. "Outfit him and let him help, then. Any of your soldiers who wish to assist in the effort should be allowed to avenge their comrades as well - within reason, of course."

"Agreed, Inquisitor. It will be done."

"Then, if there is nothing further - oh... wait." The Inquisitor placed a hand to her forehead as if rubbing away an unpleasant ache before allowing the hand to drop to her side as she turned back to Josephine. "I have been meaning to ask, the invitation to attend one of Madame de Fer's soirees, does it still stand?"

Josephine furrowed her brows in puzzlement at the mention of the months-old invitation. "I imagine some delicate handling would assure you a positive reception. But why now?"

The Inquisitor shrugged. "Dorian reminded me I can't afford to pick and choose allies. If someone is willing to aid our cause..." She briefly glanced over at the Commander before continuing. "Even if I disagree with her opinions on Circles, I can't afford to turn her away. As you've mentioned before, she is a competent mage and her connections to Orlesian society might be useful to you."

"Still," Leliana cautioned, "if you feel she would be a disruptive voice in what we have built here with the free mages, is she worth the trouble?"

"Well, that will be a part of the meeting, I suppose. If she doesn't agree to my terms, then..." The Inquisitor shrugged. "Then I'll have done _my_ part, at least."

"How would you like me to proceed?" Josephine asked. "Your trip to the Approach cannot be delayed."

The Inquisitor stood a bit straighter. "Can you use your persuasive powers and invite her to meet with us at Halamshiral the day before the peace talks? Explain our numerous tasks and entreat her to join us. If we come to an understanding, she can attend the ball as a part of the Inquisition."

Josephine raised her brows in appreciation. Flashes of the leader born in Haven had become more frequent in the past few weeks, but sometimes the depth of thought behind their Inquisitor's suggestions still surprised Josephine.

"I will present the offer to Madame de Fer," Josephine assured her. "If she is serious about assisting us, I'm sure she will accept our terms."

"Thank you. If anyone needs me today, I'll be training with Cassandra, meditating and practicing with Solas and Dorian, and then stopping by Undercroft to speak with Harritt. Otherwise, I'll be in my quarters finishing paperwork and preparing for my departure until our lesson, Josephine."

"We have nothing further right now, Your Worship," Josephine assured her. "I'll see you later today."

They all began walking toward the door when they heard Cullen clear his throat. "Inquisitor, may I have a word with you before you go?"

Josephine caught Leliana's gaze and then they both watched a faint blush spread across the elf's face. Leliana waggled her brows, but said nothing as they passed out the door. As Josephine closed the door behind her, she caught a glimpse of Cullen's arms circling the Inquisitor's waist, his head lowering for what would surely be a passionate kiss. The door clicked shut, and Leliana snickered quietly.

"He is incredibly smitten. It's so sweet, I think I might be sick."

Josephine giggled in return as they walked down the hall to her office. "And she is over the moons. They do seem to have finally found their way. It was a long time coming."  
  
"Oh, yes. Since Redcliffe at least. Dorian's presence was a thorn in Cullen's side from day one until Dorian explained that the Commander himself had more to worry about than the Inquisitor."

Josephine turned her confused expression toward her friend. "What do you mean?"

"Dorian shared that he prefers the company of men. The Commander seemed more at ease after that."

"Oh! I wasn't aware. That explains that..."

Leliana snorted. "Well, I guess it was still a secret to some, then."

Josephine, in a fit of joviality she'd only show in front of her dear friend, stuck her tongue out at the spymaster. "Well, I happen to know that Cullen has been taken with our Herald since well before Redcliffe. I first noticed it right after his blunder around the war table concerning her clan. He was far too upset for it to simply be embarrassment over offending the Herald of Andraste."

Leliana's eyes widened a bit. "Really?"

"Yes, of course. But I thought you would already be well aware of the situation, _spymaster_ ," Josephine goaded, "especially when she would write those letters directed specifically to him."

It was Leliana's turn to stick her tongue out at Josephine as they passed out of the hallway and into Josephine's office area. "Well, I suppose my attentions were directed elsewhere at the time. As shy as they both can be about such matters, I am surprised the two of them made it this far."

"I do believe they had some help in the form of a meddling dwarf and a nosy Tevinter mage. Aaaand, I may have also encouraged them both a time or two... or twelve."

"My dearest friend, you are a bit of a hopeless romantic."

Josephine shrugged and cocked an eyebrow. "I recall a younger, red-headed spy who used to be a bit of a romantic herself." Leliana shot Josephine a sidelong glance as she fought off a grin. She said nothing in response, however, so Josephine continued on. "It's a diversion, and a little romance is good for morale. If people as important as the Inquisitor and the Commander are taking time for something like a love affair, it shows people that things might not be quite so dire. It is a motivator to keep going."

"Or it's a momentary distraction and weakens our credibility to have an advisor engaging in a fling with our leader," Leliana said with an arch of her brow.  
  
Josephine snorted in playful derision. "Can you _truly_ imagine either of them using this as an opportunity for a fling?"

Leliana conceded with a wry smile. "They are both too skittish for that, no? I believe Dorian affectionately refers to them as 'awkwardly adorable.' We will need to come up with a plan to deal with the political fallout when rumors begin to spread. Luckily, neither seem to be the type to lack discretion - unless we take the battlement kiss into consideration." They shared wicked grins between them before Leliana sighed and looked back toward the door to the war room. "Well, as much as I would love to watch them emerge from what seems to be a passionate rendezvous, I have work to do. Fill me in later?"

"Of course," Josephine promised, the wicked grin still on her face.

A full five minutes passed before the Inquisitor finally appeared looking flushed, her hair mussed and tunic slightly out of place. She waved awkwardly and headed out the door before Josephine could say a word. The Commander strode through her office a few seconds later, also looking flushed. He gave Josephine a curt nod, and she did her best to hide her grin. But when he returned only a few seconds later, she had to give him a quizzical look.

Cullen looked sheepish as he passed by. "I... uh... forgot something."

He returned with both his gloves crushed in one hand and nearly jogged out of her office before he stopped once more and approached her desk.

"Josephine. I have a small request. I know I've said that I don't need anything else for my office but..." He cleared his throat, his eyes wandering to the trinkets on her desk. "I was thinking I might need some comfortable furniture for... people who might need to wait for me."

"People like the Inquisitor?" she teased.

Cullen's eyes snapped to Josephine's, and he flushed bright red. "Uh, well, yes, she might be... she stops in now and then, yes... Or Dorian for a game of chess," he tacked on lamely.

Josephine expertly contained her mild surprise that Cullen would allow such a change to his private office. Then again, he'd probably give up his office completely and sit in the middle of the courtyard if she asked him to.

"Chess... Yes, of course, Commander. I will make sure you have something appropriate at once."

Cullen bowed and muttered a hasty, "Or whenever is convenient. Thank you," before retreating.

Josephine spent the rest of the day answering missives from nobles, arranging plans for the ball with her new right-hand - a consummate man named Marcel who'd come highly recommended by her contacts in Val Royeaux - and composing her message to Madame de Fer. When finished, she read over the missive with satisfaction. Madame de Fer surely wouldn't be able to deny such a request.

They still had more than a month and a half to prepare, but Josephine knew time would fly. They needed as many allies at court as possible. Their Inquisitor might be the savior of Thedas, but she was still Dalish, and that would put her at a severe disadvantage with many Orlesians. She also knew the elf would be uncomfortable with the entire process. As much progress as they'd made in the last few months, this would be a huge stretch for their typically reserved Herald. Josephine sighed and leaned back in her chair. The Inquisitor _was_ graceful and had picked up quickly on the dancing. Perhaps that would garner enough approval from the courtiers to get them through the evening.

Just before four o'clock, Leliana appeared again in Josephine's office looking worried. "Josephine, the couriers you sent to reinstate your family's ability to trade in Orlais? I... I just received word from my agents in Val Royeaux that they've been _murdered_ and the documents they were carrying destroyed."

Josephine didn't even try to hide the horror in her face and voice. "Murdered? But why? By whom?"

Leliana shook her head, determination apparent in her look and tone. "I don't know, but I will find out. I know this is important to you."

Josephine let out a heavy sigh and rubbed her temples. "Yes, please. Thank you, my friend."

"You should also consider telling the Inquisitor," Leliana suggested, "especially if this becomes something requiring... personal attention. She can assist you."

"No, no," Josephine asserted as she waved off Leliana's concern. "I won't bring her into this. She has enough on her shoulders. I can deal with this... for now."

Leliana took a deep breath and gave Josephine a warning look, but she said nothing. Just then, the door opened again, and the Inquisitor walked in with Dorian.

"Good afternoon," she called out cheerily. "You both look solemn. Anything I can help with?"

Leliana quirked a brow, but Josephine demurred. "Not at this time, Your Worship. Shall we get started?"

"By all means. I've been sitting in my room reading reports all afternoon, so I could use some exercise."

Dorian grabbed her by the waist and swung her around. "Oh, Solas and I didn't wear you out twirling our staffs about earlier today? I'll dip you and twirl you until you cry out for mercy! By the time I'm done with you, you'll be the finest dancer in all of Thedas - besides me, of course."

She laughed joyfully, and Josephine tried to recall a time when she'd heard the Inquisitor laugh in such a way. Only one or two instances came to mind and only since they'd arrived at Skyhold. The elf had a tendency to be withdrawn, of course, but it occurred to her now that the Herald also seemed to have a tendency toward sadness. Right now, however, she was strong and willful and looking quite radiant. Josephine fervently hoped this was a sign the Inquisitor was becoming stronger and more comfortable in her position. Her new relationship might also have something to do with it.

Dorian seemed to notice as well, and bent down to kiss her cheek. He whispered something in her ear that made her blush. She pushed him away from her, attempting to give him a disapproving side-long glance. However, the grin on her face ruined the effect.

They spent the next hour dancing around Josephine's office. The Inquisitor still had trouble with some of the steps, but her graceful movements and lithe body more than made up for it. She easily recovered if she made any mistakes. Dorian, of course, moved with perfect form.

"Yes, that will do," Josephine acknowledged as she nodded in approval. "I have no doubt that you will be able to smooth out any remaining missteps in the Western Approach."

Dorian eyed her with disdain. "Oh, so it was _you_ who suggested I accompany her worship to that awful wasteland. I won't forget this ambassador."

Used to his melodramatics, Josephine merely laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "I'm sure you will live. If you don't, you won't be able to go to the ball."

Leliana laughed, too. "You clearly know the way to a man's heart, Josie."

Dorian smirked but retained his disdainful tone. "And I will certainly be the belle of the ball. Well, now that everyone is done laughing, may I go?"

The Inquisitor pushed him playfully toward the door. "Yes, go. Be ready at dawn!"

"As you wish, my lady."

Dorian bowed at them as he walked backward toward the door. Then he smartly turned on his heel and left the women alone in the room.

Leliana clearly wanted to say something teasing, but she stopped herself, instead stating, "You really have improved greatly in your dancing, Inquisitor."

"Thank you. I've been practicing with Dorian whenever possible."

Leliana nodded. "I hear you also practice chess with Dorian... and with Cullen?"

To her credit, the Inquisitor only tinged slightly pink and kept a straight face as she responded. "Dorian taught me to play, and we've played a few times. Cullen and I played a game last week, but we haven't found any time for another as of yet. It's an interesting game, but I don't really have the strategy down. Cullen beat me while actively trying _not_ to."

Leliana made a humming noise. "That's too bad. I was going to use a chess analogy for The Game, but if you're having trouble with the strategy..."

The Inquisitor shrugged. "Try me. If it isn't making sense, I'll let you know."

Leliana nodded, and they began the next part of the lesson. Josephine mostly sat back and let Leliana take the lead. As the lesson went on, Josephine found her thoughts drifting back to the murder of her couriers. Who would do such a thing? She could not believe it to be coincidence or even a case of misidentification. Someone had purposefully thwarted her attempts. And those poor couriers. If she'd known they'd be in danger, she'd have sent them with protection. Now...

Despair ripped ragged holes in the hope she'd harbored since learning she might be able to return her family to their former glory. She had debated whether or not to tell her brothers about the possibility and now thanked the Maker she hadn't. To get their hopes up only to dash them... well, she knew they would feel it even more keenly than she herself did in this moment.

A well placed and surreptitious nudge from Leliana's toe brought Josephine back into the conversation in time to hear the Inquisitor saying that she understood both games a little better now. Apparently the chess analogy had worked well.

"I don't think I'll ever be really good at it, though. I'm just hoping to save Celene and avoid all-out chaos."

"Those are good goals, your worship," Josephine said, covering her lack of attention with a touch of wry humor in her voice, "but if we can turn any other situations to our advantage, we should."

The Inquisitor sighed, a touch of sadness in her expression. "I'll always do my best for you, Josephine. I hope it's enough. As I said in the meeting today, any advantage against Corypheus..." she shuddered and then continued, "is worth pursuing."

Just then Marcel ushered in the Orlesian tailor he'd brought in to make their garments for the ball. After standing for measurements, Leliana shot Josephine a significant look while the tailor fussed over the Inquisitor. Josephine shook her head slightly, a thin-lipped smile on her face.

Josephine was last to be measured. As she stood with the tailor, she noticed the Inquisitor stayed behind, shifting her weight nervously from one foot to the other. Josephine quickly sent the tailor with Marcel to find Dorian. When the men left the room, she turned and smiled at the nervous elf.

"Is there something more I can do for you today, Inquisitor?"

"Will... will you be joining the others for dinner?"

The companions and advisors had taken to eating meals together in the great hall. Not everyone showed up every time, but usually at least four or five would gather on a given evening. Josephine had yet to see the Inquisitor join them.

"Oh, I hadn't thought about it. Will you?"

"I'd like to... if you are."

Josephine couldn't contain her surprise. Before she could respond, however, the Inquisitor spoke again in an agitated tone.

"Oh, that didn't come out like I intended at all! I simply meant... I'd like to talk more with you... to spend more time together- That is... Creators bless me, why does this continue to sound like a come on?"

Josephine stared at the Inquisitor a moment more before bursting into laughter. A heartbeat later, the Inquisitor joined in. They laughed until tears streamed down their faces. The elf came and sat on the edge of Josephine's desk.

"Oh, Josephine! If you leave this to me, I'm sure we'll be kicked out of the ball before we've been there for 15 minutes! I simply meant that... I very much want to be friends... I mean good friends." She sighed, wiping an errant tear from the corner of her eye. "I just... I think I'm finally getting the hang of this friendship thing, and I want to... well..."

The Inquisitor trailed off, her eyes flicking up to Josephine with a sheepish half-smile. Josephine, eager to reassure her, grinned and nodded in return.

"I have to admit I've enjoyed our conversations so far. It was nice to talk with you about things other than business. I think we are already well on our way into friendship, but it's nice to acknowledge it. I'm flattered that you would seek me out as a confidant, Inquisitor."

The elf raised an eyebrow. "And the first step to being good friends is calling me by my given name. At least when it's just us."

"Right you are. And you may call me Josie." Josephine stood and walked around to offer her arm. "Very well, Evana. Shall we go have dinner with the others, my friend?"

Evana gave Josie a pleased smile, and they walked arm in arm to join the others for dinner.


	33. In which old habits find new meaning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Evana spend a final evening together before a long separation.

Sometimes the fight itself exhausted him. After morning exercises, he drank tea. After looking over final plans for the Western Approach, he took a draught. After drills that afternoon, he took another, higher dose of the draught before sitting down to go through reports. Each time, the ache dulled for a time. And each time, the pounding came back stronger than before even as the itch in the back of his brain grew more insistent. The lyrium song told him he could be well, be strong again - for her, for them all. His eyes drifted to the wooden box on his shelf, but he growled and turned away again. An unfortunate messenger entered his office at that moment and escaped a few minutes later shaking in his boots - but with the requested report in hand.

In an attempt to work through the pain, he'd turned his attention to the ball at the Winter Palace. Blueprints of the building were strewn across his desk, and he'd already drawn up several possible routes and methods to get the soldiers and their weapons in the right place at the right time. But as the guard called out the eighth hour, he simply couldn't focus anymore through his blurred vision.

He leaned his head against the back of his chair and closed his eyes. In the past few months, he'd disciplined himself not to think of Evana outside of Inquisition business because his thoughts tended to turn... inappropriate. But now they were together, he allowed his mind to linger on her from time to time. And right now, thoughts of her were infinitely better than the insidious need that would otherwise overtake him.

Everything about the last two days had been nearly incomprehensible. He'd woken up this morning certain that the previous day had been some sort of lucid dream. Only the shy but knowing look in her eye as she'd walked into the meeting had convinced him otherwise. After that, he'd had trouble waiting until the end of the meeting to wrap his arms around her and kiss her senseless.

Yesterday was no dream, today had certainly not been a dream, and he was forced to admit he couldn't have dreamed such an amazing reality anyway. He'd have never dared to.

The pounding faded to the background as his mind wandered over the thousand little things he'd tried to memorize as they held each other the previous evening - the softness of her skin, the feel of her hands and lips on his body, the tiny gasps and sighs she'd made as they kissed... He groaned softly as he remembered the feel of her body pressed against him, the feel of her skin under his fingers. It had taken all his discipline and willpower to prevent their passion from taking its course. Maker, how he _wanted_ her...

Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, he forced his brain to focus. He didn't just _want_ her. He _loved_ her. And they both had things they needed to work through.

A deep shudder ran through his body as he thought of the ways he could hurt her if his withdrawal worsened. Men had gone mad from this. He couldn't be sure he wouldn't eventually follow. On the bad days, he could almost feel his grip on reality bending as the vivid memories arose and pulled him back to the Ferelden Circle at Kinloch Hold. What if he one day began seeing things that weren't there? Or thought he was someplace else? What if he thought she was someone - some _thing_ \- else? He'd rather the withdrawal killed him. She might mourn him, but at least he wouldn't be able to harm her.

Which brought him to his other, more pertinent reason for taking things as slowly as possible - eventually, as their relationship progressed, he would have to be more open about his past. He would have to tell her about what happened to him - what happened there in the Circle tower. Every part of him rebelled against the thought, but if things progressed in the way he hoped, he couldn't - he _wouldn't_ \- keep anything from her, especially not something that had so fully shaped and directed his life to this point. To truly understand him, she would have to know the basics at least. After all, it was only fair that she know what a broken man he was, only fair that he give her the opportunity to come to her senses and run as far from him as possible before they did anything she would regret.

_Maker, I am so incredibly unworthy of her_. It nearly made him want call it off. But he was too weak for that. He'd allowed it to begin, and if it were to end - if they were to end - it would have to be her choice. He could not conceive of giving her up voluntarily... which made him even less worthy of her if possible. If he truly wanted what was best for _her_ , he never would've admitted he cared for her in that way. Because someone like her could do so much better than him - a man who had been complicit, knowingly or not, in the abuse and murder of innocent mages.

He lifted his head from the back of the chair, buried his face in his hands and growled in frustration. _No! No, no, no._ Those were the old thoughts. Dark thoughts. The thoughts that dragged him ever back to Kinloch and haunted his dreams. Thoughts that had kept him isolated from others and locked in his own, self-inflicted hell. He needed to move past them. He was _here_ because he wanted to make things right. Or at least make an attempt at atonement. He would work to be worthy of her, and perhaps when the day came to tell her of his past, she would see who he'd become instead of who he'd been.

Or she would leave him and find someone better. Someone worthy. Someone whole.

The dark thoughts caused the war hammer in his brain to increase in intensity, driving specter nails into his temples and eyes. His muscles briefly tensed in apprehension as his stomach roiled for a moment then settled again.

_Move on. Think of something else._

Eager for a reprieve, his brain gravitated back to Evana. Since she'd told him of her marriage - her bonding - he'd picked up several hints that perhaps it hadn't been the best relationship. His first clue had been her statement that they'd been happy _in their way_ with a healthy dose of hesitation on the word "happy." She never mentioned her bondmate, Hanir, being an exception to her clan's general ambivalence about her. And she'd often talk about something as a new experience that he assumed she'd already... that someone with a partner should have experienced already, such as her admission last night that he looked at her in a way no one ever had before. He knew that couldn't be true. But even if she were too self-conscious to recognize it in others, if she could see it in him, shouldn't she have been able to see that from Hanir?

Unless Hanir had never looked at her with appreciation or desire. The very idea boggled Cullen's mind.

Even her admission that she'd never been happier in her life than she was with him - while flattering - made him uneasy. He knew where his own happiness came from. His life as a templar had been one disaster after another, and the Inquisition had given him a new chance at life and, quite unexpectedly, love. But for her... the small things were beginning to add up, including the feeling that he'd struck some sort of nerve by stopping their progression last night. He understood she might be confused, but based what he knew and had experienced of her, her reaction had been atypically emotional. He didn't want to assume the worst, but...

How could he ask about it? Would that even be appropriate? Should he wait for her to bring it up? After their initial conversation, she'd avoided any mention of that part of her life. He only knew that she blamed herself for the deaths of Hanir and the other clan members. Did she feel the same about that day as he did about the events in the Hold? If so, he felt slightly ashamed that he had yet to open up about his experiences when she'd already told him so much about herself. He just couldn't talk about it... not yet. He dismally wondered if he'd ever be able to move past it.

Suddenly, a small boyish voice whispered in his ear, "They didn't hang you there. You can walk away."

Cullen whipped around to see Cole hovering beside him. Unsure of what to make of the cryptic words, he fell back on his natural response.

"Cole!" he gasped, his voice filled with irritation and pain. "What are you doing here?"

"Uldred marked you, but didn't make you. You stayed you. The center never changed - safe, like the coin in your pocket."

Cullen's eyes widened. _Uldred? How did he know...?_

A knock on the door as it opened interrupted them, and Cullen suddenly found himself wondering what he'd been doing. Had he been talking to someone? A soft voice he knew well followed behind the knock, and he forgot about everything else. She'd come to see him. She pushed the middle door open enough to slip in and then closed it with her foot.

"Good evening, vhenan. I didn't see you come through the hall, so I thought I'd bring you a little bit of dinner."

He noticed then she was carrying a plate of food. However, instead of increasing his appetite, the aroma of food that wafted toward him as she approached sent another roiling wave of nausea through him. _Oh, please, no... not this... not in front of her._

"Good evening, Evana. I appreciate the thought, but I'm afraid..."

He tried to think of an excuse, but his pain-muddled brain wouldn't cooperate. The look on his face must have given him away.

"You're not feeling well today."

He sighed. "I can endure it, but the food... perhaps we could leave it and walk the battlements instead? Fresh air might do me good."

She smiled and set the plate on the far edge of his desk. "Of course. Whatever you need."

He stood gingerly from his chair, careful to not jostle around too much, and he saw her try - and fail - to hide her worried expression. They stepped outside into the dim torchlight, and the pain behind his eyes lessened slightly. Cullen inhaled in the crisp mountain air and brushed the back of his hand against hers as they walked. The next wave of queasiness barely caused him any distress, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Feeling a little better?"

"Yes, thank you. How has your day been?"

"Full. Cassandra made me practice escape moves for two hours this morning in the armory. And I practiced dancing as well as how to fake being a snobby Orlesian noble with Josephine and Leliana." Cullen snorted in amusement but said nothing, so she smiled and continued. "Leliana also passed me those reports from the scouts in the Emerald Graves. If there's time, I'd like to stop by on the way back to see if I can find anything about the red templars. Which brings me to the little bit business I needed to discuss with you..."

He chuckled. "I suppose that's why Cassandra originally brought me here, after all."

He saw her smile in the dim light. "I wanted to ask you more about what you know of Samson."

Cullen held in a sigh. Samson wasn't exactly a pleasant topic, considering the reason for his former bunkmate's removal from the Order. However, Evana needed information, not details about what he'd allowed to happen in Kirkwall under his watch.

"As I've told you, we found that the red templars were coming from Therinfal Redoubt. The knights there were fed red lyrium until they turned into monsters. Samson took over after their corruption was complete."

"How do you know Samson?"

"He was a templar in Kirkwall until he was expelled from the Order. I knew he was an addict, but this... Red lyrium is nothing like the lyrium given by the Chantry. Its power comes with a terrible madness."

"Yes, the red templars we faced in Haven were proof enough of that."

"We cannot allow them to gain strength. They still require lyrium. If we can find their source by investigating the caravans being smuggled along trade roads, we can weaken them _and_ their leader. But please be careful. Anything connected to Samson will be well guarded."

She nodded and then paused as if considering her next question. "If you don't mind me asking... you and Samson seem to have a personal history..."

It wasn't really a question, but he knew what she meant. Apparently she did want details.

"When I arrived in Kirkwall, Samson and I shared quarters. He seemed a decent man, at first. Knight-Commander Meredith later expelled Samson for 'erratic behavior.'" Cullen debated whether or not to be more explicit, but decided against it. The pounding in his head reasserted itself as if in silent punishment for his cowardice. "He ended up begging on Kirkwall's streets. He committed further crimes, but managed to evade the Order's justice. Now he serves Corypheus as his loyal general."

"Why do you think Samson chose to serve Corypheus? It seems like a pretty big leap."

"He had a chronic lyrium addiction. He spent every last coin buying it from local smugglers. Perhaps Corypheus flattered his vanity, gave him purpose as well as lyrium? Perhaps that's all it took."

Evana shook her head. "It sounds like Samson had a miserable life."

Cullen couldn't be so sympathetic. He could regret the reasons for kicking Samson out of the templars without condoning his affiliation with Corypheus.

"The Order expelled him, but he had choices. He could have found another path. What I don't understand is how he became so powerful. Even with red lyrium, Samson's glory days are long behind him."

She shrugged. "I don't mean that I excuse his behavior - nothing could - but sometimes when people are in desperate situations, they can't always see the way out. Even if it's right in front of them."

Her understanding and capacity for empathy never failed to amaze him. Cullen took her hand and pulled her gently to a stop. He faced her and gave her a hard look before speaking again.

"You are right about that. Sometimes I... have difficulty feeling sorry for people like that."

She moved in closer to him, placing her free hand on his breastplate. "That's because you probably never take the easy way, do you?"

He reached out to rest his other hand on her hip, pulling her even closer. "Maybe not, but I'm fairly certain you don't ever take the easy way either, and you are still far more sympathetic than me. I'm just a callous old man."

She laughed at him, and he heard a murmur go up from the guards on duty. If they hadn't been watching before, they would be now. He realized they were close to the same location where they'd shared their first kiss, and all thoughts of red templars and Samson and guards on duty flowed out of his brain. Lifting his hands, he pulled off his gloves, and the slow, seductive smile she gave him in return sent goosebumps racing across his flesh.

This morning in the war room, she had shyly shared with him her mini obsession with his hands. He had returned the favor by explaining - while kissing her repeatedly - how her lips drove him to distraction.

The gloves fell to the stone with a soft thud, and he greedily threaded his fingers into her hair as he cupped her face. His other hand returned to her hip to pull her closer to him. He rubbed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip, and it suddenly became a bit harder to breathe. The reality of her there with him - that she had truly chosen him - was finally beginning to set in, and he knew instinctively he should share this feeling, regardless of how poorly he'd likely manage it. Bending his head down, he brushed his lips across hers before moving to whisper in her ear.

"I- I need to tell you... I must tell you how _lucky_ I feel to be with you. I'm in awe of the way you try to see the good in people, even when they do horrible things - in awe of your unfailing faith in your friends... in me... I don't deserve it... don't deserve _you_."

Before she could respond, Cullen dragged his lips back across her cheek and captured her mouth in a full, hungry kiss. She sighed and leaned into him, her lips molding to his, somehow softer and sweeter than he remembered. His hand curved from her hip around to her lower back, fingers deftly finding the edge of her tunic and moving underneath to slide along her waist as he pulled at her bottom lip with his teeth. She trembled under his touch, and his own hand trembled to feel the smoothness of her skin again. The silk under his fingers could easily become an addiction. He already ached to touch more of her.

He pulled her back into a darker corner of the battlements, his fingers swirling around the small dimples in her lower back, then caressing her spine, then kneading into the muscled flesh of her back. As his mouth left hers to trail kisses down her neck, the thought of her journey - that she would likely be gone for a month or more - made him hold her that much more tightly. She clung to him in return, gasping softly into his ear as he kissed his way across her neck.

The appearance of a guard on their section of the battlements finally forced them to part, but he took and kept a firm grasp on her hand as he reached down to pick up his gloves. They walked hand-in-hand back to his office, but as they entered, the brighter light caused waves of pain to wash over him again. He stumbled slightly as he closed the door and then turned around to lean on it, giving her a wane smile. At least the smell of the food no longer made him want to vomit. The candlelight felt like daggers to his temples, and he closed his eyes against the yellow glare.

"Ma vhenan? Are you alright?"

He opened his eyes to find her standing next to him, her face awash in concern. She reached up to put the back of her hand against his forehead.

"You're burning up, Cullen. Are you ill? I mean... more ill?"

"I don't... think so. I've never really paid attention to whether I had a fever or not. I suppose it could be normal."

She stood awkwardly for a moment. "Can I get you tea? Or a draught? Or I could... I mean, I've been practicing healing spells..."

Cullen's gut wrenched involuntarily and not because of the symptoms. She was offering to help him. He knew it. How could he really say he trusted her if he didn't even give her the opportunity to try? The idea sent a shockwave of anxiety ripping through him.

"The teas and draught haven't worked well today. I... I suppose..."

He struggled to get the words out. He needed to show her he trusted her. He needed to get over these old fears. He _did_ trust her, didn't he?

"I suppose we could try it."

She smiled reassuringly. "I promise I will use as little magic as possible. In your state, though... you should probably sit down."

Cullen walked over and sat down in his chair with as much grace as possible under the circumstances. She moved to stand behind him, and he tried to push away his burgeoning fears, working furiously to keep his breathing under control.

"I'll cast a calming spell first, just to help with muscle aches."

He closed his eyes, and suddenly the bodies of his friends from the Ferelden Circle, mangled and broken by the abominations, flashed through his brain. His eyes flew open, and panic rose up in his chest. Just as he was about to stand up again, a feeling of utter peace covered him like a soft blanket. It felt much like the effects of a full mug of her calming tea but without the sleepiness. The tension in his muscles eased considerably, and though the fear still lurked in the corners of his mind, the calm helped him see it for what it was - an overreaction. A justifiable one, considering his past. But still, an overreaction. She wasn't an abomination. She was Evana... first his friend and now his lover. She wouldn't hurt him. He closed his eyes to the glaring candlelight once more.

"Now I'm going to do a simple heal spell that should at least reduce the symptoms. It will take some time, so...um... try to relax."

As if he could do anything else. Soon, he felt the war hammer pounding on his skull turn into a dull hum at his temples. He opened his eyes and found the light didn't bother him as before. He even felt cooler. She appeared in front of him looking hesitant and rested her hand on his forehead as before.

"Any better?"

He smiled warmly. "Yes. Thank you. The headache has dulled quite a bit."

Suddenly, his stomach growled, and they both laughed weakly. After filling and placing his kettle on the fire, she retrieved the plate of bread, cheeses and cured meats she'd left on the corner of his desk.

"Luckily, it's nothing that will be worse off for having waited to eat it."

He made short work of the plate while Evana sat on the edge of his desk looking through a few of his half-finished requisitions and recommendations for the Crestwood and Storm Coast agents and soldiers.

"I take it our troops in Ferelden are doing well - maintaining stability?"

He nodded as he chewed and then swallowed. "Except for the loss of our patrol on the Highway, we've had little trouble in those regions after you put the fear of the Maker... errr... Creators in them."

She grinned at him. "I thought it was the fear of Andraste?"

His smile turned lopsided. "Maybe so."

She looked back to the reports for a moment and then set them down again. Her eyes turned to watch him, gazing at him pensively. Finally, she leaned forward.

"Would you mind singing me a chant?" One corner of her mouth quirked upward slightly. "I know you can sing. I remember hearing you with the others after Haven."

Cullen stopped mid-chew and just looked at her. _Is she serious?_ She smiled shyly.

"If you're feeling up to it, that is. And after you're done, of course."

After swallowing his last bite, he took a drink of water and slowly scooted his chair until he faced her as she sat on the back edge of his desk. She leaned back on her palms and crossed her ankles as he looked at her warily.

"What sort of chant do you want to hear?"

"Maybe one that you think would help me understand why you follow - why you believe?"

He felt a bit embarrassed by her request, but then he remembered the night in Haven when she'd sung to him. Perhaps she simply enjoyed songs. And she'd always seemed at least open to his religion, even if she didn't really believe in it.

"I don't know if it really adequately describes why I believe, but this is one of my favorites..."

He began, hesitant at first. However, as he moved through the verses describing those faithful to the Maker, his voice strengthened but remained soft and low. After all, he was singing this just for her. Their eyes locked, and he couldn't help singing as much for her as for Andraste.

_"Many are those who wander in sin,_  
_Despairing that they are lost forever,_  
_But the one who repents, who has faith_  
_Unshaken by the darkness of the world,_  
_And boasts not, nor gloats_  
_Over the misfortunes of the weak,_  
_but takes delight_  
_In the Maker's law and creations,_  
_she shall know_  
_The peace of the Maker's benediction._  
_The one who repents, who has faith_  
_Unshaken by the darkness of the world,_  
_She shall know peace."_

When he finished, she drew in a deep breath and then exhaled as she jumped off the desk to grab the kettle. "That was beautiful. You have an amazing voice, Cullen."

He blushed but nodded to acknowledge her compliment. "Ah... thank you. Here, let me help you."

Standing up tentatively, he noted with surprise that his normal muscle aches were barely a twinge. He felt the underlying desire for lyrium and knew it would amplify once she left - it was always worse when he was alone - but she had truly done a marvelous job with the outward symptoms. She opened one of his tea pouches to pour leaves into a couple of mugs.

"Better add a little extra to mine. I think I'll be turning in early tonight. I'd like to be up to see you off in the morning."

A pleased look crossed her face. "I'd like that... not that you don't usually." Her expression turned thoughtful. "Have you ever missed seeing me off on a journey?"

His brows furrowed in thought, and then he shrugged and looked down as he poured water into the mugs. "Not that I can recall. It's almost a tradition at this point."

"Well, it's a nice one for now, but I hope... I hope eventually we won't have to be parted quite so much."

His breath caught in his throat at the implication in her words, and he slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. He tried to maintain an even tone as he responded, but his heart raced wildly. Such words from her made it easier for him to speak the truth of what he felt.

"I hope for that as well."

Her cheeks flushed pink as she took the mug he offered her and resumed her spot on the edge of his desk. He sat back in his chair, gazing at her lovely face as she stared into her mug and bit at her alluring lip, and tried to avoid thinking of how much he wanted to pull her into his lap. Someone could walk in any of the three doors to his office at any moment, but he almost didn't care. Maybe a conversation with Harritt was in order. Surely no one would blame him for wanting to secure his office with a few locks. There were, after all, Inquisition secrets just lying there on his desk for anyone to see.

He hummed softly at the thought, remembering the would-be assassin in the tavern. Perhaps there really was reason to install those locks beyond his desire to retain some privacy with Evana.

"Something wrong?"

He shook himself from his thoughts. "No, I was just thinking about..."

What could he say? That he'd been thinking inappropriate thoughts about her and at the same time worrying about Inquisition business? _That_ was certainly romantic. He took a large swig of the tea, then, thankfully, remembered his request to Josephine earlier that day.

"... About a few adjustments I might make to the office before you return."

"Adjustments?"

"Yes. You should have a place to sit besides on my desk. I've asked Josephine to get me a nice, comfortable chair for any guests I might have."

"You already asked her?"

Cullen tried not to let the anxiety show through on his face. "Should... should I not have?"

"Oh, no... I mean, it's fine. I mean, it's your office, after all." She closed her eyes and let out a small huff of amusement. Then, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes once more. "What I mean to say is... I'm not used to people spoiling me like you do. You seem to anticipate my every thought. Are you reading my mind, vhenan?"

Relief cascaded through him as he chuckled and shook his head. "No, I don't believe so. I'm glad it pleases you, though."

"I just think it's amusing. You keep saying how you're not very good at all this. I'm not seeing much evidence of that so far."

He gave her a wry look, complete with sarcastically raised eyebrow. "Give it time."

She just laughed at him and drank her tea, and he marveled again at the turn his life had taken. _How in the Maker's name did I get so incredibly lucky?_

 

**

 

Cullen pulled a little more violently than normal on the final buckle of his vambrace as he exited his office and took the stairs down to the stables. A messenger had interrupted their quiet night with an urgent message, and they'd been forced to take their leave of each other in a rather chaste manner. Now, he could only think of the weeks ahead without her. It had always been difficult to watch her leave, but now more than ever, he wished he weren't tied to his desk. If she had to go - and he knew she did - at least then he'd be able to follow and protect her. He envied her companions in that. The only comfort his job offered was the ability to bury himself in his work. It would make the time pass a little more quickly.

In the pre-dawn light, he could see Bull and Varric had already saddled their horses. They sat against the stable wall chatting softly, waiting for the others to join them. He nodded at them as Evana came out of the stable with her horse. Without a word, he took a bag from her and walked around to attach it to the other side of the saddle. He could just see the top of her head from that side, and he was reminded again how small and seemingly fragile she appeared. He forced himself to remember all those reports - the ones in which she immolated entire groups of bandits at once. She only _looked_ fragile. It helped, but only a little.

When he finished, he joined her again on the other side and found her still trying to adjust the bag on her side. Standing behind her, he reached his arms around either side of her to help with the buckles she couldn't quite see. Then he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her hair. It hung past her ears now, the strands smooth like silk against his cheek. All the things he wanted to say passed through his brain - _I love you, I will miss you, come back to me_ \- but he couldn't seem to force them out.

"Be safe," he whispered instead.

She turned around in his arms, and in the dawn light, he saw her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I will."

He didn't care who saw. He reached up with his ungloved hand and gently cupped her face. In the dim light, his eyes raked over her features, trying to memorize every line, every curve, trying to say with his eyes what he couldn't seem to with his voice. Then, leaning down, he kissed her slowly, a farewell and silent plea for her to come back to him well and whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 of Part 2 of the Revelations series - [Truths Half Told Beget Lives Half Lived](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9047525/chapters/22243661) \- is set before and during this chapter.


	34. In which love is a balm and anger is an analgesic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero journeys to the Western Approach and finds her heart seems to have stayed behind in Skyhold.
> 
> Also, this Warden thing is going to be more complicated than she'd hoped.

Josie had secured them passage on a boat that left from Jader, the port city on the border of Orlais and Ferelden, and they rode hard out of Skyhold to ensure they made it on time. The pace left little room for talking, but she wouldn't have wanted to speak anyway. The last few days had been too special, too unbelievable to be able to engage in idle talk just yet.

As she gazed unseeing at the blur of rocks, hills and trees around her, Evana faded into herself to sort through the strange aches and flutters that had plagued her since that day on the battlements. Her tender feelings had flourished under Cullen's gentle care, roots digging in deeper, tighter, woven into intricate, irreversible patterns through her heart. But the way her heart now yearned for him, the way every step away from him pulled at the fragile roots, testing strength as only time and distance could... Would she break under these new and uncomfortable feelings? Would the separation wither the ties between them? Would he change his mind with so much time to rethink their impractical relationship?

A tiny gasp escaped her lips at the sharp, visceral ache that pulsed through her at the thought, an ache unlike anything she'd felt before. She then sighed as one truth became crystal clear. _This is going to be a long trip._

They made camp late that night and set off early the next morning to catch their boat. Josephine's connection had offered them passage all the way across the Waking Sea and up the river through the Heartlands to a small port town on western side of Lake Celestine, which meant they'd only have a few days of traveling by horse after disembarking. When Leliana had sent word to Captain Rylen to expect them, Rylen had responded that they had yet to hear from the Champion or Warden Stroud. Evana intoned a prayer as she rode that they were both OK.

Although the prayer was directed to the Creators, she couldn't help the small part of her that wondered if she should also address it to the Maker and his prophet, Andraste. She was supposed to be Andraste's Herald after all, and Cullen's song the other night had moved her in a way she hadn't expected - in a way the songs about the Elvhen lore and Creators never had.

She felt a tinge of shame for even thinking in such a way. But what if Andraste had really guided her through the Fade and given her a mark to fight Corypheus? She still had no memory of what had happened to her in the Fade, but the more regions they stabilized and the more they emerged victorious, the more it felt as though a guiding force had truly taken interest in their mission. The existence of one god did not preclude others, after all.

She pushed the thoughts aside. Her faith in the Elvhen gods had always been more academic than spiritual, but she wasn't ready to jump into another religion quite yet... if ever.

They reached Jader with a couple hours to spare, so they made their arrangements and stopped in for a late afternoon meal at a nearby restaurant. As she absently listened to the idle banter of her companions, she picked at her food. She should be hungry, but the food held no appeal. Halfway through the meal, Dorian's voice finally cut through the haze of her thoughts.

"... I know. But she's clearly not listening to anything we're saying. It's no fun to tease someone who isn't even paying attention to you."

Evana looked up to see her companions staring at her with equally amused and concerned expressions on their faces. "Hmmmm...?"

"There you are. I thought I might have to do some sort of interpretive dance to get your attention. We are supposed to be dancing our way through Thedas, after all," Dorian quipped. After a pause during which she merely rolled her eyes at him, he continued. "So, can I guess what - or rather who - you're thinking of? Perhaps the person I saw kissing you so passionately in the courtyard yesterday morning?"

Varric laughed. "And it's about damn time, too. I thought Curly was _never_ going to make a move."

Evana blushed hotly and looked back down at her food without responding. She wouldn't take the bait. Perhaps she'd be able to joke about it later, but right now, it was too precious a thing to sully with Dorian and Varric's teasing. Bull's voice cut in, much softer and laced with concern.

" _I_ was merely saying that you really should eat, boss. We won't have another meal like this for... well... weeks."

They all gave her their most serious looks. The irony of her three most sarcastic, smart-ass companions being serious for this long was not lost on her. She had to laugh, or she would cry.

"Creators, I'm not made of glass! I'll be fine... and yes, I'll eat, Bull. I was just... distracted."

To prove her point, she began eating in earnest. She made sure to finish the plate for good measure. As they boarded the ship, Evana tried engage more with her companions, but she found herself drifting into her own thoughts in spite of her best intentions. She wasn't used to having friends who worried about her, asked about her day and expected her to participate in conversations. In her clan, she'd focused on her work and learning from Vash'an and Deshanna. Her peers had all had families of their own, so...

_All excuses. You were diffident to your clan and your peers. You had no confidence in yourself. How could they?_

During childhood, she'd always felt out of place, but she'd also been less shy, more willing to take chances. However, her odd relationship with her mother, working so hard with Vash'an and then being apprenticed to the Keeper had led her to be more withdrawn. Her relationship with Hanir, even before their bonding, had introduced feelings of inadequacy, and she'd folded into herself even more. Then, after the attack, she'd poured all her energy into learning to protect the clan - to do what she'd hadn't been able to do for them before. She worked hard to become the best at offensive magic she could be. She would not let them down again.

But the clan had taken her dedication as disinterest, her lack of confidence and withdrawn nature as superiority. Deshanna had understood and done her best to pave the way, but Evana knew. Clan Lavellan didn't miss her, didn't wish or hope for her return. If she were honest with herself, she was still working on coming to terms with that realization, but her growing friendships and... other relationships at the Inquisition stood in stark contrast with the years of ambivalence from her clan.

Perhaps that was why she felt such kindredship with Cullen. They had both made mistakes in their past, neglected their own lives to try to make things right. Now they both had great purpose as well as great people surrounding them. It seemed like a chance for redemption that neither of them thought they deserved but both had grabbed onto like an anchor in a storm.

With these thoughts swirling in her head, she took up a spot that would give her the best view of the Frostbacks for as long as the late evening sun would allow. Ironically, an experience that started with imprisonment had made her realize exactly what she'd been missing in her clan. Perhaps she felt homesick now because, for the first time, these people felt like a true home. And she shouldn't let her reticent nature keep her isolated from them.

As if they could understand her thoughts, she turned around to find Dorian, Varric and Bull standing just behind her. She smiled at them.

"So, Varric, tell me more about this game you've been talking about... Wicked Grace was the name, I believe?"

**

The ship docked in a port outside the small town of Velun four days later. Evana had ended up sleeping for most of the trip, the rocking of the boat mimicking the rocking of the aravels of her childhood. She would try to stay awake for longer than a few hours, but the rocking of the boat just put her right back to sleep. She hadn't felt so refreshed in ages. After gathering their waiting supplies, they headed in the direction of the forward camp. They pushed on until dusk, and she took the first watch as they set up camp. She was still wide awake, but the others collapsed as soon as they hit their bedrolls.

Alone once more with her thoughts, she found herself humming Cullen's chant to herself. She couldn't remember the words, but the gorgeous melody echoed in her thoughts along with the golden visage of her Commander.

She'd come to think of Cullen's faith as just another facet of the man, and she could see that he truly did his best to serve his Maker and Andraste. He failed at times, that much he'd told her, and she'd heard echoes of rumors, the vague whispers of other mages in the dark corners of the keep, of the things in his past he had yet to share with her. Although she'd never pressure him to speak with her about it, the fact that he had yet to open up presented an obstacle she knew they'd need to overcome. Additionally, they'd simply agreed to be open to one another's opinion on mage oversight, but they'd not truly reached an understanding. And yet she thought of all she'd learned about him in the last several months, and she couldn't help feeling that they'd come to an understanding eventually.

It was still hard to believe that he truly cared for her, but all the times he'd gone out of his way to please her or make her feel more comfortable went far beyond cursory concern. Even in Haven, before he'd let himself truly show how much he cared, she'd felt and seen his kindness. Just the fact that he'd taken time out of his day to walk and talk meant the world to her. She already missed him terribly, and it made her feel a bit like a love-sick fool.

_Too bad I don't care at all._

She woke Varric at midnight for his watch and lay down to sleep. She felt like she'd only closed her eyes for a moment when a hand shook her awake.

"Come on, sleepy head, time to get up and go kill things," Dorian cooed in her ear. "It's your favorite thing, I know."

She grimaced as her body protested from sleeping on the hard ground. It was amazing how quickly a person could get used to a shemlen bed. As they rode further west, the heat and sun intensified. By the time the sun set, they were all exhausted once again. After another night on the ground, they rode into the forward camp as the late morning sun beat down upon the rows of tents and supplies marked for the Inquisition's extended stay in the Approach. Scout Harding greeted them with a wry smile.

"Inquisitor, welcome to the Western Approach. We've sighted Warden activity to the southwest, but no one's been close enough to figure out what they're doing. Between the sandstorms and the vicious wildlife, we haven't made it far out here. One of my men got too close to a poison hot spring and gave me a slightly delirious report of a high dragon flying overhead."

"A dragon!? Yeeeeessss!!"

Evana shot Bull a death look, and he shrugged. Harding paused and shot an amused look between the two of them before continuing in a faux chipper tone.

"In short, this just might be the worst place in the entire world."

Evana gave her a sympathetic look. "I assume you've got your orders to head to the oasis next?"

"Yes, your worship. I will be heading out there soon. And Captain Rylen and his company are out fighting off a group of varghest from our water supply."

"Please tell the Captain when he returns that we're going to find the Grey Wardens. I hope we can end this quickly."

"Be sure to let us know if you think you need back up. Good luck, and be careful, Inquisitor."

Evana saluted Harding and pulled out a map of the area. She found her direction, and they set off. They had to fight through a couple of rifts and multiple attacks from wildlife and Venatori before they finally approached the Grey Warden ruin several hours later. To her great relief, she saw Hawke and Stroud crouching outside the tower's entrance. The lines in Stroud's face pulled deep as he turned his agitated gaze on her.

"I'm glad you made it, Inquisitor. I'm afraid they've already started the ritual."

The green light emanating from the tower told her all she needed to know about the situation. A cold stab of fear shot through her, but she looked at the group of warriors gathered around her and shoved the fear away. Whatever lay within those walls, they would defeat it, as they had done countless times before.

As they approached, they could see a Grey Warden walking away with a rage demon following closely behind. He joined a line of other Wardens bound to various other demons standing eerily still on the tower platform. A dark-haired man in Tevinter-style dress looked up from his Warden thralls and called out to them.

"Inquisitor! What an unexpected pleasure." The man bowed, a twisted smile splitting his face. "Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium at your service."

"You are no Warden!" Stroud shouted at him across the platform.

Erimond's eyes narrowed as he looked to Stroud. "But you are. The one Clarel let slip. And you found the Inquisitor and came to stop me. Shall we see how that goes?"

Evana's blood boiled. Corypheus sure knew how to pick the most arrogant, self-important asses for his dirty work. _At least if they're assholes, I don't feel as bad about setting them on fire._ She pointed to the dead Warden on the ground before Erimond.

"Looks like you've already done some of my work for me."

"What? Him? We simply needed his blood. Oh... were you hoping to garner sympathy? Maybe make the Wardens feel a bit of remorse? Wardens! Hands up!"

The Wardens lining the path to where Erimond stood mechanically lifted their hands like puppets on a string.

"Hands down!"

The Wardens lowered their hands. Evana's heart plummeted to her stomach as she took in the vacant eyes staring out into nothingness. Beside her, Stroud positively radiated anger. She wondered sadly whether he knew any of the enslaved Wardens.

"Corypheus has taken their minds," Stroud choked out.

Erimond shook his head, a sick smile still twisting his lips. "They did this to themselves. You see, the Calling has the Wardens terrified. They looked everywhere for help."

"Even Tevinter," Stroud growled.

Evana could tell Stroud wouldn't last much longer with the talking portion of this interaction. She needed more information, though. What was the plan? Why do this? Luckily, she didn't even have to ask as Erimond provided the information freely. _How accommodating of him._

"Yes, and since it was my master who put the calling into their little heads, we - the Venatori - were prepared. I went to Clarel full of sympathy, and together, we came up with a plan... raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake."

Evana rolled her eyes. "Ah, I was wondering when the demon army would show up."

Erimond looked a little nervous for a moment. "You... knew about it, did you? Well, then, here you are. Sadly for the Wardens, the binding ritual I taught their mages has a side effect. They're now my master's slaves. This was a test. Once the rest of the Wardens complete the ritual, the army will conquer Thedas."

Blood magic at its worst. Leliana's words in the dark future at Redcliffe rang in her ears. _And mages always wonder why people fear them... no one should have this power._ Evana felt the rage inside her grow at the thought. This was why people feared them - feared her. Weak-willed fools who would try to control others with their magic. How many mages' lives had been ruined by the actions of those few who gave them all a bad name? Those who misused their power for their own personal glory or even in misguided attempts to do good?

"Thank you. That's all I needed to know," she spat out at him.

Erimond sneered and lifted his hand. It glowed red as he extended it toward her with a vicious snarl.

"Oh, please."

Suddenly, a stab of pain pierced her hand and shot up her arm. She stumbled, fell to her knees and bent over, clutching her hand to her chest in agony. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out. She was too angry for that.

"The Elder One showed me how to deal with you in the event you were foolish enough to interfere again," Erimond continued, oblivious to Evana's rising temper. "That mark you bear? The anchor that lets you pass safely through the Veil? You stole that from my master. He's been forced to seek other ways to access the Fade."

_Arrogant fool!_ Evana took several deep breaths to push back the pain, and while Erimond babbled on about his power, Evana focused as Solas had taught her. The anger became a tool, feeding her destructive force, and she stood up slowly, with purpose, raising her hand.

"When I bring him your head," Erimond finished, "his gratitude will be-"

Erimond suddenly cried out in pain as Evana used her anchor to overpower and subdue him. He flew backward a few paces and the rift the Warden had opened to summon the rage demon closed with a vicious snap. Erimond got up slowly, terror dawning on his face. In the next moment, he turned tail and ran, shouting over his shoulder.

"Kill them!"

Chaos broke loose around her as the enslaved Wardens and their demons attacked. At least all of Stroud's pent up frustration could now be put into action. A deep sadness on his behalf mixed with her fury as she worked through her forms, fighting against the men and women who once stood as heroes of Thedas. She knew the Calling had them all frightened, but this? Surely they could see they were being manipulated!?

Evana took a hard hit to her right side, forcing her to focus more fully on the battle. She called down barriers for her team as often as she could, but she mainly focused on icing out the rage demon to keep her companions from getting burned. The other mage Wardens were not difficult to kill, and finally, with one final freeze and a jolt of electricity, the rage demon exploded into a thousand pieces before her. As horrible as she felt cutting down the enslaved Wardens, the demise of that rage demon felt _good_.

Her blood hummed with left over adrenaline as they regrouped. She passed out a few healing potions for Varric and Hawke, who'd taken the brunt of a demon attack before she'd been able to get a barrier up for them. Dorian had been able to keep himself protected, and Iron Bull just shrugged off the damage. Hawke guzzled the potion and then shook her head.

"They refused to listen to reason."

Stroud sighed. "You were correct. Through their ritual, the mages are slaves to Corypheus."

"And the Warden warriors? What of them?" Hawke asked.

Stroud wouldn't look at Hawke, and the other mage seemed to understand. She closed her eyes and shook her head again.

"Of course, sacrificed in the ritual. What a waste."

Evana's ire was still up. She tried to be sympathetic, but surrounded by so much blood and chaos, she began to understand why Cullen might have difficulty feeling sorry for a person like Samson.

"Human sacrifice, demon summoning..." She shook her head in disgust. "Who looks at this and thinks it's a good idea?"

Hawke answered simply with, "The fearful and the foolish."

Tension arced through the air as Stroud responded. "The Wardens were wrong, Hawke, but they had their reasons."

Hawke leaned back and crossed her arms in front of her. If looks could maim, Hawke's eyes would be considered deadly weapons.

"Yes. All blood mages do. Everyone has a story they tell themselves to justify bad decisions... and it never matters. In the end, you are always alone with your actions."

Hawke's words pierced her anger, and all former sympathy for the Wardens flooded back to her. Evana's response was quiet but firm.

"Perhaps you're right, but a person who makes a bad decision may also still be redeemed."

Hawke looked at her curiously, but merely tilted her head in acknowledgement.

Evana's statement seemed to ease the tension, and Stroud finally spoke again.

"I believe I know where the Wardens are, Your Worship. Erimond fled in that direction." Stroud raised his hand and pointed south. "There's an abandoned Warden fortress that way - Adamant."

She nodded. "Good thinking."

"Stroud and I will scout out Adamant and confirm that the other Wardens are there," Hawke offered. "We'll meet you back at Skyhold."

Hawke took Varric aside, their heads bent together in whispered communion, and then she left with Stroud to scout the fortress. As Evana looked over her companions, her mind, still roiling from the adrenaline, swirled in several directions at once. Finally, Dorian pulled her from her thoughts.

"Uh, not to rush you, my dear, but we _are_ standing among a bunch of dead Wardens and demons. Could we move on soon? I'm worried I'll get blood on my shoes."

Evana looked down at the other mage's blood-soaked armor and boots, then looked back up at him with a raised eyebrow, her lips quirking in a disbelieving smirk. "Blood on the shoes, eh? Little bit late for that." Then, turning to the others, she huffed out a long sigh. "Well, it's still light, and I'm worked up from that fight. I know it's hotter than dragon's fire out here, but... should we look for a few more rifts before heading back to camp?"

"Bianca's all in," Varric affirmed.

"Yeah, I'm up for it, Boss."

She looked at Dorian, who sighed dramatically. "Only you would ask me to trudge around in soiled armor and blazing heat to kill even more demons. Shall we practice our dancing in the sulfur pits, too?" Evana's mouth twitched with a barely suppressed smile, and Dorian's shoulders sagged in defeat. "Oh, I suppose since we're here and my boots are already ruined, we might as well."

She gave him a lopsided grin and headed off in the direction of the next rift on her map.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 of Part 2 of the Revelations series - [Truths Half Told Beget Lives Half Lived](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9047525/chapters/22477097) \- is set during and after this chapter.


	35. In which stoicism is put to the test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra feels cooped up and underutilized in Skyhold... until she begins to notice worrisome things about the Commander.

Cassandra took another swing at the practice dummy, grunting loudly as the giant two-handed sword swung around her head and landed with precision on her mark. It had been more than a week since the Inquisitor left for the Western Approach, and Cassandra was at a loss on what to do with herself.

The Inquisitor had been apologetic about the switch, but Cassandra had still been disappointed at being replaced as part of the mission. She understood the necessity of taking Dorian, of course. It wasn't that she blamed any of them. She was simply bored. Their brief trip to Redcliffe with Dorian had been her first and only time away from Skyhold since their arrival. During the Inquisitor's trip to Crestwood, there had still been much to do to repair and clean up around the fortress. However, most of the work had been completed or was now being addressed by skilled workers. Satinalia two days ago had provided a much needed respite, but other than that, assisting Cullen and Leliana in training new recruits could only allay the restlessness to a certain point. She'd asked the advisors if there was more she could do, but it seemed the plans for the ball at the Winter Palace were falling into place rather easily.

They'd received a note from Scout Harding this morning that the Inquisitor had arrived in the Western Approach as anticipated. Now they all waited for word from the Inquisitor herself about the Grey Wardens, which Leliana said should be arriving shortly. In the meantime, Cassandra tried to stay busy.

She let the sword fall to her side and wiped the sweat from her brow. Despite the cooler temperatures in the mountains, she found she still easily worked up a sweat in full armor. Her muscles ached from the hours of training with the recruits this morning. Perhaps she could see if the library had any decent books to read. Dorian's constant presence in the library tended to deter her from searching too closely for the type of book she most enjoyed, but she had a feeling they were there somewhere. Now that she didn't have to risk the sharp-tongued mage's teasing eyes, the idea became more appealing.

She sheathed her sword and headed up the stairs to the great hall. She passed by Solas on her way to the stairs, but he'd become so used to people using the space as a pass-through, he didn't even look away from the mural. Climbing the stairs to the library above, she was surprised to see so many people in the relatively small space. She was even more surprised to find the Commander standing among the shelves, scanning titles. He looked drawn and tired. She made a mental note to check in on him a little more often in the next few days.

"Good afternoon, Cullen. It seems we had the same thought."

Cullen nodded at her but said nothing, and she was perplexed to note the tinge of pink that appeared on his somewhat pallid cheeks.

"Looking for something in particular?"

"I- uh... I'm just looking for some... err... strategy books."

He said it as if he were questioning it himself, and Cassandra raised a brow at him. He tinged a little pinker, and she walked over to stand by him, reading off the titles he was looking at.

"' _Culture and Origins of the Dwarven Kingdoms,' 'Human History through the Ages,' 'The History of the Chantry'...._ these look more like history books. Is there something I can help you find?"

"No... uh... no, thank you. I simply thought..." Cullen sighed and shifted uncomfortably as she continued to look at him. Finally, his shoulders slumped in resignation. "I thought I might find a book on Dalish culture here."

"Dalish...? To learn more about the Inquisitor? Did you have another misunderstanding?"

"What? Oh... no, nothing like that. I just wanted to know more... more about... uh..."

He didn't seem to know where to go from there, and Cassandra finally decided to take pity on him. "I am not here to judge your book selections, Cullen. Far from it. I came to search for a book myself. I simply thought I could help you."

"Oh. Well, thank you. I'd appreciate that... What are _you_ searching for? Perhaps I can return the favor."

Cassandra's cheeks betrayed her in the same way Cullen's had earlier. "I am unsure. I thought I might look through the titles until something caught my interest."

It wasn't necessarily true, but not strictly a lie either. She would take any book that might be remotely interesting at this point. Cullen seemed to notice the blush and gave her a smirk but mercifully didn't press the point. They both began scanning the rows and soon moved on to separate areas. Several minutes later, she came across some promising titles on the bottom row of a shelf in what had become Dorian's corner.

"Cullen, what about these?"

He walked over and knelt with her to inspect the titles. "Yes. It's a good start anyway."

"You might also speak with Josephine if you have not already. I know she did much research on the Dalish when we first realized the Inquisitor would be with us for some time."

Cullen nodded as he pulled a few of the books from the shelf then stood up again. "Yes, that's true. I remember her giving me quite a lecture after that first misunderstanding in the war room. I'll ask her the next time I see her." He lowered himself into the chair in the corner and then glanced up as Cassandra. "Don't tell Dorian I sat in his chair. I would never hear the end of it."

Cassandra lifted a brow. "I would not dream of it."

Cassandra continued to search for a book, but instead of focusing on the book titles in front of her, she found her thoughts turning to why Cullen might be looking into Dalish culture. She wasn't so oblivious that she'd missed Cullen's gazes toward their Herald, which had started early on in Haven. She'd also noticed the Inquisitor's preference for their Commander's company, but until the night at the tavern, she hadn't really suspected anything might be going on between them. Now, Cullen wanted to learn more about Dalish culture? Her inner romantic thrilled at the implications, though she also wondered about the implications for the Inquisition. Would it weaken their credibility to have such an obvious conflict of interest? She would consider it further before raising her concerns with either of them.

Cassandra suddenly wished she'd been able to develop a closer relationship with the Inquisitor. They'd been out in the field together for weeks at a time and maintained a friendly camaraderie, but she could never seem to move past a certain point in the elf's defenses. The Inquisitor still kept many of them at an arm's length, but unlike Varric and Dorian, Cassandra wasn't the type to force friendly intimacy on the Inquisitor. Perhaps she should ask Josephine a few questions herself.

Cassandra gave up on the books and took the stairs down to the great hall to Josephine's office. The ambassador paced in front of her fire, talking to herself quietly and scribbling down a few words here and there. She paused and blushed slightly when she saw Cassandra enter the room.

"Cassandra. I apologize for my lack of decorum. It's been a long..."

"Year?"

Josephine laughed and nodded. "My, my... it has been almost a year since I joined you all, hasn't it? I wouldn't trade it for anything, though. What could be better than saving all of Thedas?"

"Indeed. I am glad you enjoy the challenge. I-" Cassandra stopped, unsure of how to broach the subject. Usually, she simply remained forceful and direct, but something told her that wasn't necessarily the best way to make friends. "I was wondering if you had a moment to speak about a - a personal matter."

Josephine looked down at her board and nodded. "I'm not getting anywhere with my current project. I could use a distraction. What can I do for you?"

"I have noticed that you and the Inquisitor seem to have a... closer relationship than she has with some others here."

Josephine smiled. "Yes, we've... become closer in the past few weeks."

"I have done my best to be pleasant and welcoming to her, but I cannot seem to get beyond what seems like friendly acquaintances. How... how were you able to... to become..." Cassandra let out a noise of frustration. "I was simply wondering how I might become better friends with the Inquisitor."

If Josephine was amused, she did a good job hiding it. "I understand what you mean. I, too, had some difficulty at first. Part of that might be her general shyness and quiet nature."

"Yes, I had thought of that. I tend to be much more... direct. I was unsure if that was off-putting for her. Perhaps she and I are not suited for friendship."

Josephine shrugged. "Oh, I don't know about that. You have to understand that, for her, building relationships is difficult. But as she's grown in her role with us, I've seen her become less reticent... much more open to discussing her life and thoughts."

"So I should ask her more about her life? Or must I wait for her to speak of those things?"

"The Inquisitor does respect directness even if it makes her uncomfortable sometimes, so I can't imagine you would have too much trouble once you started. Perhaps you could simply ask basic questions. Try to get her to talk about herself. I imagine she doesn't have many people who actually ask her how _she_ is doing. Cullen might be the only one who does so on a regular-"

The door opened behind them to reveal Leliana and Cullen. Leliana quickly took in the scene while passing by.

"Josephine, we've received word from the Inquisitor. Cassandra, it's good that you're here. Please join us."

Cassandra felt a bit like she'd simply been in the right place at the right time but followed the advisors into the war room nonetheless. If she could be helpful, she would be.

As Cullen handed the newest reports from the Western Approach to Josephine, Leliana spoke. "The Inquisitor was unharmed in the altercation, but the confrontation with the Grey Wardens did not go well. We were hoping for a resolution there, but... regardless, Hawke and Stroud are now scouting a nearby Warden fortress that had been thought to be abandoned. The leader, a Venatori by the name of Erimond, fled in that direction after the fighting began."

Cullen took a deep breath and shook his head before responding. "I know we don't have confirmation, yet, but I think we should assume that we'll need to lead an assault on the fortress and prepare accordingly. Do we have any plans or drawings of the fortress?"

Leliana nodded. "I can obtain them, but it will take some time. We should also assume that every moment we wait, more Grey Wardens will be bound to demons in the way she describes."

Josephine, still looking over the papers, raised her head in time to hear their planning. "Of course this would have to happen as we're trying to prepare for the ball at Halamshiral. You all aren't thinking of ignoring the peace talks in favor of this assault, are you? I understand how a demon army is a frightening prospect, but add to that a country in chaos from the assassination of the Empress and..."

"The peace talks are certainly important, too, and we will be there," Cullen assured her, "but if we are truly pitting ourselves against all of the Orlesian and Ferelden Grey Wardens... an assault of this magnitude requires immediate action if we're going to make a move any time in the next few months. I need to start sending supplies. If the Inquisitor could take that Keep..."

"I'm sure she will. Especially with Lieutenant Rozellene on her way with the reinforcements for Captain Rylen," said Leliana.

Cullen merely hummed in response and leaned over the map of Orlais. She could see him already beginning to work through scenarios for the assault in his mind.

Cassandra had remained silent to this point, but she couldn't help wondering aloud, "Do we have the influence necessary in Orlais to send that many troops? We are on speaking terms with the Empress, but will she allow us to send an entire army into her country without some sort of tacit understanding between our parties?"

Josephine looked a bit impressed by Cassandra's comment and shook her head. "That is another reason we cannot do too much before the ball. In truth, I'm not sure we can do more than fortify the Keep with troops. As unstable as relations are between the warring factions, an outside force sending siege equipment into Orlais would surely be seen as an act of aggression."

Cullen let out what sounded like a small growl. "How can I prepare for an assault if I can't begin organizing my troops?"

Josephine raised an eyebrow, but kept a serene look on her face. "You can. You must simply do it here until we are ready to begin sending them out. As I said, fortifying the Keep would be a start - if you happen to send a few more contingents than is strictly necessary, I doubt anyone would raise an alarm."

Cullen nodded. This close to him, Cassandra could see the exhaustion in the way he held himself. It was so subtle, she wasn't sure the others noticed, and she was once again impressed with how well Cullen was holding up against the lyrium withdrawal symptoms. He would always tell her when he was having more difficulty than normal, of course. But he remained focused on his duties and on the goals of the Inquisition throughout everything. She respected him greatly for it.

"Cullen, I offer you my services in organizing and training, as always."

He gave Cassandra a half smile and tilted his head to her. "Thank you, Cassandra. Your assistance is appreciated."

The meeting only lasted a few more minutes as Leliana talked through the logistics of acquiring drawings of Adamant and each advisor gave brief updates on plans for infiltrating the ball. Josephine and Cullen spoke briefly after the meeting, and from the look on the ambassador's face, the conversation likely had to do with the topic Cassandra and Cullen had been discussing earlier in the library.

 

**

 

Later that afternoon, Cassandra stopped by Cullen's office to discuss their first steps in preparing for the assault. She walked in to find Cullen surrounded by soldiers and messengers. He dealt with them one by one as Cassandra walked to the corner to sit in one of two plush chairs by the fire. She absently wondered when he had acquired such furniture. She couldn't recall that it had been there the last time she visited his office.

Finally, the last messenger left, and Cullen walked over to her. He sat down heavily in the chair opposite hers, the firelight accentuating the dark circles under his eyes.

"Harritt has expressed concern that the armory is running out of raw materials for armor. We'll need to send parties to all the regions we're currently holding to collect materials."

Cassandra grunted. "I would be happy to lead some of those parties, if you think a personal touch would help with... expediency."

Cullen chuckled. "Perhaps. Most of our supply lines are holding up well, but I think our agents in the Storm Coast could use a strong presence to help them remain... on task."

"I will leave tomorrow, then," Cassandra affirmed. "I would like to take Blackwall with me. He has been downcast since the Inquisitor left to deal with the Grey Wardens without him. A mission will take his mind off things."

Cullen nodded. "Good idea. You might also consider taking Solas and Sera with you. You never know when you might need the skills of a mage or a rogue."

Cassandra let out a noise of disgust. "That maddening rogue elf! Our first trip to the Storm Coast together was quite enough."

"Well, your other option is Cole."

"What is it about rogues that make them so insufferable?" Cassandra said with a sneer before sighing loudly. "Sera it is, then." She paused a moment and simply looked at him in the dim light. "You look tired, Cullen."

The Commander looked away from her uncomfortably. "I am. It's been... a rough few days. The nightmares seem to be getting worse, and since the Inquisitor left..."

He stopped abruptly and turned a deep shade of red. His eyes remained turned away from her.

Cassandra wondered briefly what he'd been about to say, but settled with, "You are working yourself too hard. You have already proven yourself capable in your duties."

He finally looked back at her, frustration clouding his expression. "And yet some days I feel as if I'm drowning in the endless line of things that need to be done. How can I ignore that?"

"You do not ignore it. You delegate. That is part of being a commander. With Captain Rylen in the Western Approach, you can rely on him to know the best methods for getting troops there and to take care of any other preparations we might need to make. I know it makes you uneasy, but there are many people here to help you. I am one of them."

He gave her a feeble smile before standing. "Thank you again, Cassandra. I need to inspect the training grounds for tomorrow's exercises. Would you care to join me?"

Cassandra stood, and they walked out to the practice area together.

 

**

 

The next day, Cassandra left with her party to ensure the Storm Coast remained tightly within Inquisition control. Things had certainly become more lax in the time since the Inquisitor had first gained their loyalty, but overall, the mission went smoothly... despite the constant bickering between Solas and Sera. Blackwall, Maker bless him, often engaged Sera himself to allay tensions.

The party returned a week later to news that the Inquisitor and her companions had, in fact, taken Griffon Wing Keep with little assistance from Rylen and his soldiers if the Captain's reports were to be believed. Cassandra thought she'd gotten over being impressed by the Inquisitor's almost ruthless efficiency, but taking the keep - along with the laundry list of other tasks she'd accomplished - had left Cassandra in awe once again. The elf had also closed all the rifts and was now heading to the oasis to search through the ruins and hopefully find a purpose for the shards.

At the same time, reports from Captain Rylen had also included mention of darkspawn in the area. The Inquisitor had followed the trail as far as she could, but they needed to build a bridge over a poisoned area in order to find where the undead were coming from. Cullen had sent immediate word that laborers were on their way, as well as orders for Lieutenant Rozellene to stay where she was for now to assist Rylen. Cassandra noted that he also took the opportunity to send a few more troops with the laborers than strictly necessary, as Josephine had suggested.

She also noticed that he looked even more pale and tired than he had before she left. She began checking in on him at least once a day. Most of the time, she had an excuse as they were now working together more closely on training the troops to ready them for the battle.

Nearly a week passed before they received word from the Inquisitor. The party had found the temple in the oasis and opened the doors with the shards. Cullen had turned somber at the revelation that the temple contained wisps that seemed to infuse the Inquisitor with heightened magical abilities, but Cassandra could only be glad that the Inquisitor had received these abilities and not the Venatori or Corypheus himself. The Inquisitor and her party were staying in the area to help some locals, clear out the Venatori presence and close the rifts. Then, she would head to the Emerald Graves and anticipated she would be back in Skyhold within two weeks, just in time for final preparations for the ball at Halamshiral.

Then, three weeks to the day after the Inquisitor had left, Hawke and Stroud showed up at the gates of Skyhold with a report on Adamant. Using her information and the plans Leliana had found from the original construction of Adamant, they came up with a strategy for attack. It wasn't perfect, but they would refine the plan as they obtained more information.

Cassandra got up early the next morning to ready the practice area for morning exercises. Hawke had agreed to assist her and Cullen in training the men and women for what they might expect in a battle situation, and Cassandra wanted to make sure everything was in perfect order for the Champion.

A little after dawn, just as she finished setting things up, she heard a faint yelling. Looking to the battlements, the terrified movements of the guards had her running for the stairs immediately. As she approached, the yelling - or screaming more like - became louder. She burst through the doors of the vacant tower and rushed to a guard who was pounding on the door to Cullen's tower. Inside, she could hear him still - anguished, painful cries interlaced with nearly incoherent words of denial.

The guard panicked. "My Lady Seeker, the doors are locked! We cannot get in!"

Cassandra pulled out the key Cullen had given her a few nights earlier when explaining his decision to lock up his office. She'd thought it a good plan at the time, but now, it felt like an unnecessary delay. She turned the lock and rushed into the room only to find it empty. The screams were coming from the loft. Climbing the stairs as quickly as possible, she found him thrashing wildly in his bed.

"Maker bless him - he is asleep!"

Directing the guards who had followed her up to hold his legs, she grabbed him by the arms and started shaking him.

"Cullen! Cullen, wake up! You are having a nightmare."

Her words seemed to have no effect, and she dodged his arm as he attempted to fend off whatever was attacking him in his dream. Why wouldn't he wake up? She shook him again.

"Commander! You are dreaming. You must wake up now!"

Cullen stopped thrashing quite so much, but he remained solidly asleep, still yelling and occasionally convulsing. Grimacing, and unsure of what else to do, she pulled her hand back and slapped him across the face.

Nothing. A stab of real fear pierced her heart.

His shouts devolved into incoherent mumbling and pitiful whimpers. She waited, and then shook him again. After a few moments, she was horrified to realize that he'd begun sobbing in his sleep. He curled up in a ball in the bed as the sobs racked his body. She shook him even harder, nearly frantic in her fear for him. Could a demon be attacking him in his sleep?

"Cullen! _Wake up_!"

Still nothing.

The guards had let go of the Commander's legs when he stopped thrashing and now stood awkwardly at the end of the bed. She pointed to the water pitcher.

"Someone bring me the pitcher!"

A guard quickly picked it up and brought it to her. Without another thought, she stood from the bed and threw the contents of the pitcher directly into Cullen's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 of Part 2 of the Revelations series - [Truths Half Told Beget Lives Half Lived](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9047525/chapters/22925148) (which contains the details of Evana and Rylen's assault on Griffon Wing Keep) - is set just before this chapter.


	36. In which the past and the present collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***WARNING: Grapic descriptions of violence and brief mentions of rape/assault in this chapter.***
> 
> Cullen's dreams take him to dark places.

Knight-Captain Cullen pushed through the thick underbrush, wiping his brow every so often as sweat trickled down his face. Only the cool southern breeze tempered the sweltering humidity, and the other templars flagged under his unrelenting pace. But it could not be helped. Every moment they paused to rest, the trail left by the fleeing Dalish clan grew colder. Only a faint sense of magic kept him on the trail - whatever spell they used to hide their tracks left a light, almost fragrant touch on the plants and ground around them.

As he moved ever forward, the niggling doubt that had followed him since leaving Kirkwall pressed into his consciousness yet again. He couldn’t fathom why Knight Commander Meredith had deemed this particular Dalish mage worthy of pursuit. Typically they ignored the Dalish elves that wandered the forests of the Free Marches.

He grunted to himself and buried the feeling of unease. He'd been given his orders. He would follow them, as always.

They'd been tracking the clan for a few days now, and he felt sure they were close. The faint magic burgeoned with each passing mile. Meredith had sent him with ten others to claim the mages, but inexplicably, the Hasmal and Starkhaven Circles had also sent templars to retrieve the mage. They had met by chance in the small town where the report originated, and all agreed to work together to apprehend the mage and then let their Knight-Commanders decide where the mage would end up.

The trees thinned, and they picked up their pace, gaining ground despite the quiet grumbles of the less fit templars. Another hour brought them into a clearing, and dismay coursed through him at the sight of a large group of elven landships gathered into a defensive position at the edge of the clearing. So much for the element of surprise.

This clan had three mages, and they stood in front of the group. The first two, an older woman and a young man probably around Cullen's age, stood partially obscuring a third mage as they formed a magical barrier around the clan. Cullen had planned a much more subtle attack, but before he could formulate a secondary plan, before he could even turn to consult with the Starkhaven Knight-Captain, the templars from Hasmal charged. Cullen stood there in shock, mouth slack. Behind him, a gruff voice hissed in dismay.

"Maker-damned fools!"

An arrow struck the man next to Cullen, and Cullen immediately jolted into action. He cried out for the templars to stop, but even his own men now rushed forward without him. He had no choice. He ran forward as well.

"Remember, we're supposed to take them _alive_!" he cried out in a final, likely fruitless, warning.

He had covered little more than half the distance between himself and the clan, keeping his helmet visor down and avoiding arrow fire, when one of his men fell in front of him and then another from Starkhaven to his left. He pushed on, eyes scanning the thinning field of templars. Suddenly, he felt a tingle in the air around him and his hair stood on end. In the next moment, a bolt of lightning punched him square in the chest, knocking the breath from his lungs. He hit the ground hard.

"Fen'Harel take you!"

The strong, violent voice sent a chill of recognition down his spine. Ahead of him stood the third mage - the one they'd been tracking. He didn't know her, but as she rushed forward, her fingers and staff still shimmering from her recent spell, all ice and danger and pale fury, he couldn't escape the tendril of familiarity that wound around his heart. Short white hair formed a soft halo around her slender, tattooed face, but her blue eyes flashed with a ferocity that would cause lesser men to tremble. She looked more like an elven warrior goddess than a mage.

The older woman yelled something in elven, and the young woman turned. All the ferocity melted from her face, replaced with a look of complete terror. In his incapacitated state, he had trouble shifting his head, but he turned in time to see one of his templars catch hold of the young elven man. Cullen's relief that it had been a Kirkwall templar was short lived. The young man struggled against him, so instead of subduing as he ought, Cullen watched in horror as his own man pulled a knife across the mage's throat. An arrow found the templar's eye socket a few seconds later.

A blood-curdling scream shredded the air around him. The young woman had fallen to her knees, frozen in shock and disbelief. Cullen's limbs finally came back to him, and with great effort, he raised himself up. Stumbling toward the mage, he felt that sliver of doubt return. Why was he here? Was all this really necessary for one Dalish mage?

Too late for that now.

The older woman had rushed toward the young woman as well, but began backing away and speaking in almost hysterical elven to the young mage as she saw Cullen approach. The older woman threw an immolation spell at him, and he barely dodged it. When the fire cleared, the two were running toward the safety of the clan. Cullen followed and reached out with his power as far as he could to subdue them. _One last push._ If he missed, if they made it to the rest of the clan, he would call a retreat.

The young woman, a few steps behind her elder, stumbled and fell. The older woman didn't notice. Cullen reached out again as he approached, arrows flying around him and bouncing off his armor. Her tear-stained face contorted wildly, her grief-stricken eyes locking briefly with his before closing as oblivion took her. He hesitated, but then an arrow struck his helmet, nearly piercing through the thick metal visor. Spurred into motion, he grabbed her up and threw her over his shoulder. Let them shoot arrows at him now!

When he regrouped with the others, only three other Kirkwall templars and another two from Starkhaven had survived. The templars from Hasmal had all perished. Cullen couldn't hide his disgust.

"What a waste! It didn't have to go this way."

Starkhaven templar, a Knight-Captain Rylen, nodded. "I've rarely seen such foolishness, and never before when it could have cost me my own life. I'll be making sure our Knight-Commander had words with the Hasmal Knight-Commander."

"What of the mage?"

Rylen shrugged. "As far as I'm concerned, you retrieved her, so she's yours to take if you like."

Cullen gave the other Knight-Captain a curt nod. "And the remaining mage that got away?"

"We don't have the numbers to take her now, even if we had a sound strategy. And we were really only sent here to retrieve this one. I'd say we've got to head back. If the Knight-Commander wants the older elf mage, he'll need to send another group."

"Agreed."

They waited until the clan moved on, which didn't take long, and then took care of the dead templars. After parting ways with the Starkhaven templars, they moved out. The mage remained unconscious throughout that day, so he carried her himself. He didn't trust anyone else - not when his own men had followed reckless templars instead of looking to him for direction.

When they finally stopped to camp for the evening, he set her on a bedroll next to his and carefully tied her hands and feet. When he looked up, he found her staring at him almost vacantly. She said nothing.

"Hello. My name is Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford. I've been tasked to bring you back to the Kirkwall Circle - a place called the Gallows."

She still said nothing, but a tear escaped the corner of her vacant eyes and slid slowly down her cheek. Her eyes glistened in the firelight, and the doubt inside him grew stronger. Deep down, he felt a stirring, an urge, to hold her and comfort her. As the feeling intensified, he physically backed away from her, his breath coming in short bursts of surprise and confusion. He _didn't know her_... did he? Granted, her situation was pitiable, but her emotional state was not his concern. Keeping Thedas safe from the dangers of mages and following Meredith's orders were his concern. He turned away, but not before she drew her knees to her chin and uttered a single word in a broken voice.

" _Hanir_."

 

**

 

She didn't speak or look at the templars for the remainder of the trip to Kirkwall. Cullen had tried to parse his earlier feelings, but it only reminded him that the feeling had yet to fade. In fact, the longer he spent in her company, the more he lost himself to her.

It began with her lips. He watched the way she ate - what little she actually ate - and found himself wondering what it might feel like to kiss her. The direction of his thoughts terrified him, but the _power_ of the ideas disturbed him even more. It felt as if... almost as if he'd kissed her before and simply longed to taste her once again.

Relief washed over him as they disembarked from the boat and entered the safe and familiar walls of the Gallows. He quickly passed her off into the care of the other mages and templars gathered and excused himself from her unnerving presence.

As the weeks rolled by, he made every effort to avoid seeing her, but she remained in his thoughts no matter how deeply he buried himself in his work. Occasionally, he'd spy her from a distance - not that he'd been looking for her - and a strange ache would pierce through him. He noticed her continued isolation, but he couldn't convince himself he _should_ notice such a thing and so kept his observations to himself.

Things came to a head a few weeks after their return. A senior enchanter came to him out of concern - she never spoke to anyone, barely ate enough to keep a bird alive, had no interest in learning Circle approved magic. He tried to contain his racing heart at the thought of being near her again, even going to far as to demur.

"She never spoke to me, either. I'm not sure what good it will do."

He found himself in a room with her. Her room? He wasn't sure... just as he wasn't quite sure how he'd gotten there in the first place. She lay on her bed and stared blankly at the ceiling while he shook his head, trying to clear what felt like cobwebs inside his brain. A haze filled the sides of his vision, but she... He took a step closer, eyes focusing on this strange apparition that haunted his dreams and waking thoughts. In stark contrast to the darkness around them, her presence exuded light and shimmering beauty. His fancies came crashing down, however, as the words she spoke were anything but.

"Are you here to have your way with me like the others?"

Her flat, toneless words had two effects. The first was an explosion of rage that burst through his aching heart, robbed him of his breath and overrode all rational thought.

 _Who would_ dare _touch his...!!??_

The second was an all-consuming terror at his first reaction. _His what?_

Before he could physically react to her words, however, the scene changed before his very eyes. Cold, deadly panic snuffed the fire in his chest as the wrongness of everything worked from his subconscious into conscious thought. Meredith appeared in front of him holding out a sword.

"It is time for her harrowing. You must kill her if she becomes possessed."

Cullen shrank from the sword, heart pounding an erratic beat as he looked around a room that was and wasn't the harrowing chamber. "I- I don't think I should be the one to do this."

"Why not? She was your charge. You have experienced her magic first hand. Who better?"

Cullen took the sword and held it away from him as if it were poisoned. The young elven woman stood in front of him in a darkened room. Other templars surrounded them, their faces shrouded in darkness. She stood stiffly, her eyes glazed over. When he stepped in front of her, however, her eyes flicked over him, lighting briefly.

"Cullen. You _will_ kill me, won't you? Please, I can't live in this Void-taken place anymore."

Her words didn't make sense to him, and yet they made all the sense in the world. She was miserable. She'd been abused. And he'd done this to her. He watched her drink the lyrium, but she didn't fall to the ground as she should. She stood there, her glazed eyes staring past him. Meredith reached her arm out to point at the young elf.

"They lyrium has no effect. She is already possessed. Cullen, kill her!"

He could feel no demon presence in her, and his mind revolted. His body, however, jerked forward of its own volition as if possessed.

"No! No! Please, there is no need for this!"

Meredith laughed cruelly, and the words did nothing to stop the relentless march of his own feet toward his mage. He tried to stop himself - from moving, from raising the sword. He willed his muscles to cease, but the inexorable march continued.

A golden light shone down on her, and he thought he'd never seen anything so beautiful. He didn't know how or why, but he suddenly knew he loved her. He _loved_ her. And as he neared her, full on panic set in.

"No, please no! Maker! Forgive me!"

His body leveled the sword at her chest. He watched helplessly as his own feet, but not his feet, brought the point closer and closer. Tears blurred his vision, but he couldn't even raise his hands to wipe them away. His feet, and with them, the blade, moved ever forward.

"Evana! You must move! I cannot stop."

"I know," came her simple, emotionless reply.

A strangled cry ripped from deep in his chest as he felt the brief resistance of her soft flesh before the point sliced through her skin. Her screams joined with his and echoed through the chamber. Blood welled up around the blade and began pouring from her mouth as steel tore through lung and sinew and bone. She choked on the blood, and her screams withered away as the point of the sword gave one last hiccup of resistance before tearing through her back. She fell to her knees and then to the floor, blood pouring from her chest and sluicing down the blade erupting from her back.

Finally, his body became his own again. He screamed unintelligibly, tears streaming down his cheeks as he dropped to the floor to gather her dying form in his arms. Her arms flailed as she tried to fight him off, and a hand managed to smack across his cheek. Then, as suddenly as it began, her struggling form quieted. She hung limp in his arms, her lungs rattling and gurgling as she tried to breathe through the blood. His screams turned into shouts of denial.  
  
"No! Please, no! Don't leave me! I'm so sorry! Evana... my love... _please_!"

He no longer knew what he was saying. Then, she looked up at him, and even through the pain, she gave him a small smile.

"Thank... you... ma... vhenan..."

Her breaths came in quick little huffs that came further and further apart. Finally she breathed out her last, leaving her now dim eyes staring up at him. A debilitating grief unlike anything he'd ever experienced spread through him, numbing him to everything but the dead woman in his arms. As he held her, rocking her back and forth, the sobs came, heavy and wrenching, shaking his entire body.

He'd killed her. The only woman he'd ever truly loved, and he'd killed her.

 

**

 

Cullen sat up, sputtering. He could still feel tears running down his face, but they were joined by sluices of water dripping from his hair into his eyes.

"What in Andraste's name...!!"

"Thank the Maker! You were yelling in your sleep, but nothing I tried would wake you. I resorted to throwing water on you."

Disoriented, Cullen tried to wipe the water from his face and get his bearings, but it kept dripping from his hair into his eyes.

"Cassandra?"

"Yes, I am here."

He collapsed back on the bed as relief flooded through him. _It was all a nightmare. Just a nightmare._

Cassandra turned from him and addressed two of his guards, who he just now noticed were standing at the end of his bed. "You may go now. Everything appears to be alright."

They nodded and quickly escaped the room. He didn't blame them. His head pounded against his skull, and chills ran up and down his aching muscles. Then, all at once, images from his nightmare flashed into his conscious mind - the blood, the feel of her flesh ripping under his sword, her lying in his arms, eyes staring up at nothing...

Maker take him - it still felt like he'd just murdered her. The bile rose up so quickly, he had to roll off the bed to make it to the bucket in time.

"Cullen!"

Cassandra hovered beside him as he leaned over on hands and knees to wretch into the bucket. He hadn't eaten dinner the night before, so after emptying what little he had in his stomach, he dry heaved for a few more minutes before managing to bring his traitorous body under control. When he finally leaned back from the bucket, she handed him a dry cloth.

"I used all your water to wake you. I will return with more. You should also take a bath. You are covered in sweat and blood."

Cassandra's practical, no-nonsense attitude grounded him in reality more firmly than anything else could have. As she slid down the ladder to get more water, he touched the cloth to his nose. It came away red with blood. Turning around to sit on the floor, he leaned his bare back against the cold stone, covered his nose with the cloth and tried to keep himself from thinking about his dream.

It was impossible. A sick feeling that had nothing to do with his withdrawal pooled in his gut. He breathed in long, slow breaths in an attempt to calm himself. A fresh tear found its way down his cheek as the residual grief from his nightmare followed him into the waking world.

He'd never had such a lucid and coherent dream before, at least not that he remembered. More than that, all the details fit. Even small details, usually fuzzy and undefined in his dreams, stood out sharp and clear in his memory. At the time Evana's clan had been attacked, he'd been Knight-Captain for Meredith. And it was entirely conceivable that her clan could have been near enough to Kirkwall for Meredith to send templars to retrieve the Lavellan mages. Everything in the nightmare had been frighteningly accurate... except that his feelings for her had surfaced early on. Even so, he'd only recognized the wrongness of it all at the end.

With the details still playing in his head, he began to wonder what would have become of Evana if she had actually been captured and taken to a Circle five years ago. If he had been among the templars who attacked her clan - and to his shame, he had to admit he would have attacked if ordered to do so - he would have kept her safe on the way to the Gallows. Just his presence would have been enough. He had always taken his duty to protect very seriously, and his fellow templars knew that.

But what then? The truth galled him. The Cullen of five years ago would have done just what his dream self had done - turn her over to a life of abuse and servitude at the hands of other templars just as he had hundreds of others in real life. How many had suffered because of his blind dedication to his duty and loyalty to a corrupt Knight-Commander? To a corrupt _Order_? How many had he thought he was protecting, only to find later that the mages were being mistreated right under his nose, that he had enabled the abuse by his inaction and lack of questioning?

Evana's words to him in Haven - that she would have killed herself before they could have her - made him shudder as more hot, angry tears escaped to flow down his cheeks. The nightmare had taunted him with that reality, too. He'd never wanted to believe the stories, never wanted to admit to the possibility. But after the Rebellion, he could no longer deny that sexual abuse of mages - both Tranquil and not - had been a common occurrence in the Kirkwall Circle. Although he'd done his best to punish those responsible in the years the remaining templars were under his command, it made him physically ill to think of how many were harmed under his watch.

Her vacant, dream eyes and hollow words punched the air from his lungs once again. _Are you here to have your way with me like the others?_ Images of templars he'd known touching her - violating her - overwhelmed his defenses. His stomach roiled threateningly.

So real. It all felt so real. Even now, with the cold seeping into his back and cooling his fevered body, he was having trouble separating the dream from reality.

"No!"

He pounded a fist on the floor, a churning mixture of grief, frustration and anger pushing against the haze the nightmare left over his mind. He would _not_ let this get the better of him. His fevered, withdrawal-addled brain had simply twisted reality into something almost recognizable in order to torment him. He was not that person anymore. At least, he didn't _want_ to be. Here with the Inquisition, he had a chance to atone.

He wiped the angry tears from his face with the other side of the cloth just Cassandra entered his office again. Her ascent was much slower, and he crawled over to the ladder to grab the pitcher from her hand as soon as he could reach it. He tried to stand, but his muscles shuddered with weakness and ultimately would not obey. Cassandra finally made it up the ladder and then offered a hand to pull him from the floor. He wrapped one arm around his sore gut muscles and hobbled over to the wash stand. He rinsed his mouth out first and then began trying to clean off the dried sweat and blood.

"Just remove the worst of it. You are coming with me to the armory for a bath."

Cullen turned and looked at her, uncomprehending. "What?"

"You look awful. How long has it been since you bathed. _Have_ you bathed since the Inquisitor left?"

"Of course I have! I'm not an animal, Cassandra." He added in a quieter tone, "It's just been a few days."

"Yes, a few days of training and exercises and waking up in cold sweats no doubt. And that reminds me... any idea why I could not wake you?"

Cullen thought back to the previous evening. He hadn't eaten dinner because his stomach was upset, so he'd taken a draught and then drank some calming tea. Had he ever combined those two before? He couldn't be sure, but he thought not. The nightmares had definitely become worse over the past few months when he didn't have the tea to calm him, and even when he did drink a mug before sleeping, he'd begun remembering tiny snippets of dreams more often. Clearly, he was still dreaming, but the tea made him forget when he woke. Combining the draught and the tea had made him not be able to wake from those dreams. Perhaps that was also the reason for the lucid reality of this particular nightmare?

"I think it was a combination of a couple of things. I'll be more careful in the future."

"Yes, that would be wise, if only so you do not scare the guards out of their wits. Now come along. Put some clothes on and bring something clean to change into. Few people are up, yet, but best to avoid walking across Skyhold in nothing but your sleeping linens."

Too worn out to fight her, Cullen quickly pulled on a tunic and leather breeches before grabbing a clean set of clothes. Cassandra led him across the battlements to a small room off her main quarters in the armory that somehow already had a tub full of steaming hot water. He wondered if she'd meant to bathe this morning. Before he could ask, she made a small bow and left him alone in the room.

Cullen threw off the soiled clothes and stepped into the bath. The water was hot enough to sting, but he reveled in the way it melted the tension from his body. He let himself enjoy the heat for a few minutes before taking the soap and thoroughly washing himself.

He emerged feeling much better. Even his sore abdominal muscles didn't scream at him quite so much. Walking down the stairs and out of the armory, he saw Cassandra speaking with Hawke at the other end of the courtyard. He gave the Champion a small bow, and the blonde returned it with a cheeky little flair of her hand. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she laughed.

Turning away to return to his office, he wondered absently if Hawke's arrival had somehow contributed to his nightmare - a subtle reminder of Kirkwall that had directed the setting of the dream. He shook his head as he strode across the battlements. He didn’t have time to continue dwelling on such things. Maybe a little physical activity would help dispel the nightmarish images still haunting his thoughts. Maker knows he could use a distraction.

 

**

 

The first note from Evana letting them know she had reached the Emerald Graves eased Cullen's mind immensely. He'd foolishly worried that his dream was some sort of portent of her death. Each subsequent note they received over the next few days eased his mind further... until he began to notice her missives and reports becoming shorter and blunter each time they heard from her. Typically, her reports managed to be both descriptive and to the point. Now they rarely contained anything more than the most basic details.

Leliana had apparently noticed as well. As Cullen stood in the rookery looking over the latest reports, she quietly suggested writing a letter to encourage Evana to return to Skyhold.

"She's clearly exhausted," the spymaster commented. "She needs time to recover and gather her strength for the ball. I know she can finish this mission in the Emerald Graves easily, but if she is then too tired to think clearly at Halamshiral, the Game will be lost before we've even started. I'm sure Josephine would agree."

He agreed as well, but Cullen also felt the responsibility weigh on him - she was, after all, in the Emerald Graves trying to find clues to track Samson. Not that it wasn't important for the Inquisition - it most certainly was - but he knew she was making it a priority because of _him_. Because _he_ wanted it.

"Write it," he told her, "but let me add a note at the bottom, too."

She nodded and wrote out a brief letter encouraging the Inquisitor to come back to Skyhold immediately. Cullen added a short note at the bottom, and Leliana sent it on its way, a small, knowing smile on her lips the only indication she'd seen his note at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the downward spiral of withdrawal, PTSD and stress continues. Poor Cullen. :( At least we know it ends well, right?
> 
> Side note: I'm playing through ME:A right now (wheeee!!), so I'll likely only be posting one chapter a week for a while unless I get super ambitious.
> 
> Side side note: I listened to the ME2 soundtrack while doing the final edit on this chapter. It may or may not have added to the angst level.


	37. In which a nomad grows tentative roots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evana gets to go _home_.

On their sixth evening in the Emerald Graves, they checked in at the main Inquisition camp, retrieved the day's correspondence, and headed to a nearby stream to relax for a few moments. Evana now sat on a log a little up the hill from the stream as Dorian and Bull washed up from a particularly nasty set of rift demons. Varric sat to her left, cleaning Bianca, of course.

In the pile of reports, Evana found a small note with Leliana's flowing "L" written across the seal and opened it immediately, her curiosity piqued by the tiny scrap of paper so different from the typical missives from Skyhold. She nearly cried when she read it. Leliana's message was nice - sweet, even - though the tone made Evana feel a little bit like she was failing them. But Cullen's addition left her almost sick with longing.

_Samson can wait. Come home. -C_

He wanted her _home_. She had a _home_ , now. Why did that feel like a first?

She put her head in her hands and breathed heavily into her worn leather gloves. She should ask for a new pair, but the gift from Harritt had been her first connection to the Inquisition that hadn't felt like something given grudgingly to a prisoner. She'd received many gifts after that, of course, but Harritt's kindness to her in those first few weeks had made her feel wanted. Welcome. As if Haven _could_ be a home, even if only until they closed the Breach. Then, each friend she'd made along the way had forged another link in the chain that bound her to this group, this cause.

But Cullen made it real. Cullen made it _feel_ like home. And despite how claustrophobic the fortress sometimes felt, leaving Skyhold... leaving him got harder each time. She'd adjusted to the long separation, but she still missed him terribly at times, especially when alone. Thankfully, the company of her friends kept the larger part of her melancholy at bay. She couldn't have asked for better companions.

"You alright there, Snowflake?"

Evana startled and looked up. _Speaking of..._

"Yes... yes, of course. Just... tired."

Varric let out a grunt. She could tell he was about to say something more, but Dorian's laughter coming from the creek caught their attention. Evana glanced over to see the Iron Bull sauntering out of the creek wearing absolutely nothing. Elves didn't have issues with nudity like most humans, but the Qunari was something else altogether. She raised a hand to shield her eyes and turned away, half laughing and half embarrassed. She hadn't blushed that hotly since Dorian tried to get her to talk about Cullen's... attributes during their time in the Western Approach. She had, of course, flatly refused to talk about it. There wasn't much to talk about, anyway, but Dorian didn't need to know that.

"Creators, Bull! Cover that thing up! You'll scare off the natives _and_ all the wildlife." She glanced over again, but Bull just laughed at her and turned around to show off his backside. She rolled her eyes. "What am I going to do with you, Bull?! And people think we _Dalish_ are savages..."

"You know you like it!"

Evana let out an exasperated sigh. She shared a smile with Varric who then shouted back, "I'm sure _someone_ likes it, isn't that right, Sparkler?"

Dorian let out a haughty, fake laugh. "What was that, dwarf? I couldn't hear your sad attempt at humor over the sound of my own brilliant sarcasm."

Varric chuckled, and Evana gave the dwarf a knowing look. Bull and Dorian had been playing cat and mouse the entire trip... well, in truth, Bull had mostly been baiting Dorian with highly descriptive come-ons. It was equal parts hysterically funny and a little bit uncomfortable for her, especially considering how graphic Bull's come-ons tended to be. Dorian met each attempt with disdain, but she wondered if, underneath it all, Dorian wasn't a bit pleased with the attention.

Turning back, she saw Bull and Dorian emerging from the water, the former still naked as the day he was born, the latter properly covered with a swath of fabric. Shivering slightly at the idea of the water, she began packing up her reports and other items, placing them on a relatively clean portion of her lap.

They'd set up a few other outposts to help hold the Emerald Graves, but each night, she'd asked the others to return with her to the main forward camp. She wanted to send her daily report and then sleep in a familiar place. What she really wanted, though, was to be back in her warm bed at Skyhold underneath a mountain of blankets. Exhaustion pierced through her every bone and sinew. She felt as if she could sleep a thousand years, and the warmth of her comfortable shemlen bed called to her. Shivering again, she thought about washing the blood and ichor off her armor, but quickly discarded the idea as the very thought of cold water made her cringe and curl in on herself as she organized her papers.

She furrowed her brows as she folded the note from Skyhold and the letters she'd picked up from the smugglers. For the first time, wondered if she might be a little ill. Something had felt off for a while now, but she couldn't quite place it. The mild weather in the Emerald Graves should have been a refreshing change, especially compared to the sandy dry heat of the Western Approach, but she'd been so cold and tired that she could hardly enjoy it. She tried to remember when she'd started feeling off...

"Shit," she cursed under her breath.

She'd noticed faint chills the day of their visit to the temple in the oasis. She'd managed to open all the doors in the cold magic tombs before she'd run out of shards. Why she hadn't put two and two together before, she had no idea. The heat of the Western Approach had perhaps made it less noticeable? Fear pricked at the back of her mind as she wondered whether she might have done herself real harm. _Time to go home._

"Good news, everyone!" she called out suddenly. "We ride for Skyhold tomorrow at dawn."

Bull just gave the thumbs up from his seat down by the creek, but Dorian looked at her with relief written all over his face as he shouted up to her. " _Finally!_ I'll need a hot bath, a bed and a large glass of wine the instant we arrive, not necessarily in that order. Maybe two glasses of wine... or a whole bottle."

To her left, Varric's softer voice chimed in. "I'm also glad to hear that, Snowflake. We've had a rough time with so much traveling around." Varric paused cleaning Bianca to give Evana a discerning look. "Are you _sure_ you're alright?"

Varric had already mentioned his concern a couple of times in the past few days, but she'd laughed it off, assured him she was just tired. She tried to uncurl herself, but now that she'd recognized the illness, it seemed that much stronger.

"I'm just tired, Varric. And... cold."

Varric gave her the "Aww, shit!" look. "You're _cold_? How can you be cold in this weather?"

"I - I don't know. I just am. I think..." She paused and looked away, blushing slightly, then turned back to give him a sardonic smile. "... I might be having a reaction to the magic from the temple."

The look intensified. "Andraste's tits! Yeah, we're definitely heading back tomorrow. And next time, don't try to be a hero. Let us know you're not feeling well, will you?"

"I didn't really notice until now," she offered weakly. "It's subtle. And I think it's worse because of the lack of sleep."

Varric stood up and snapped Bianca in place on his back. "Alright, that's it. Get up. You're going to bed right now."

She frowned and looked at the sky. "But it's only seven... maybe seven thirty..."

"And you'll be asleep before eight. Come on, your Inquisitorialness. Let's go." He turned to the other two, who were still sitting together down by the creek. "Snowflake and I are heading back to camp. Remember, we're leaving before dawn, so don't stay up too late."

"Yes, mother," Dorian called back as he waved them off. "I'll be sure to clean my teeth and wash behind my ears before bed, too."

Varric walked with her up the hill to the camp and found her an empty tent. After she pulled off her soiled armor, she reemerged to request a few blankets. She caught the odd looks out of the corner of her eyes, but in the end, she walked back to her tent with an armful of blankets and assurances that she was welcome to them - no one else wanted them in this weather. Varric had stayed behind to speak to the ranking officer in the camp, and soon after, she noticed that the camp had gone from noisy to dead silent. For her. So she could sleep. Such deference still made her uncomfortable, but she couldn't complain. In the quiet, the sounds of the forest gradually seeped into her tent, cradling her in familiarity - the perfect lullaby for a forest nomad.

As she piled the blankets on top of her and huddled into a ball to conserve warmth, she sent up a small prayer of thanks to her gods - all of them - that she'd been blessed with such amazing friends. It took some time to warm up enough to sleep, but she felt herself drifting soon enough. She fell asleep to the sound of Varric speaking quietly to someone outside her tent.

 

**

 

Dorian glared at her disapprovingly as they rode side-by-side down the path. "Varric and I spoke last night, and we've agreed - you're never to be trusted with your own health again. If I'd known about your previous issues taking care of yourself in the Fallow Mire, I would've been more alert to your idiocy."

Evana could think of nothing to say, so she remained silent. This seemed to irritate Dorian even more.

"Honestly, Evana, I thought you had more sense than this."

"Clearly, I don't, so you can stop being surprised from here on out."

Her tone came out flat, the exhaustion she felt exhibited in every labored breath between phrases. She wasn't angry. Not really. She knew his reaction came from his fear for her. But his sarcastic disapproval made it difficult for her to speak the reassuring words she knew he wanted to hear - that she would be fine, that it was nothing.

In truth, she didn't know if it _was_ nothing. Her body shook involuntarily from the cold, but it hadn't seemed to worsen since yesterday evening. The exhaustion still plagued her, but the long sleep last night had taken the edge off. _She_ needed Solas to reassure _her_. How could she comfort Dorian before then?

She'd long ago realized that she no longer had the luxury of surety - if she'd ever really had it. People wanted assurance that she could defeat Corypheus. That she'd been sent by Andraste. But she couldn't tell them that for sure. Josephine seemed to think it necessary to reassure people she was, in fact, Andraste's Herald, but it felt like a lie. Just like reassuring Dorian now would feel like a lie.

"Well, you could at least be a little sorry about it," he muttered.

She sighed heavily and then shivered violently. Dorian reached out to rub her back, and she immediately felt the warmth radiating off his hand. She leaned into his hand while giving him a grateful smile.

"OK. I'm sorry," she placated. "Does that help?"

His hand remained, pouring glorious warmth into her body, but his voice turned petulant. "Not really."

"Will you keep doing that anyway?"

"Of course," he replied haughtily, as if he were offended that she'd asked such a silly question.

She patted his leg and then turned her attention back to the trail in front of them, concentrating on maneuvering her horse through the rocky terrain. They had elected to take the flat route between the Exalted Plains and the Emprise du Lion up to the Imperial Highway. Varric and Bull were scouting ahead to find the last leg of a trail the Inquisition soldiers had sworn would get them to the Imperial Highway and then back to Skyhold in less than three days. Dorian continued to push warming magic into her back as they rode together in silence. After a few minutes, she heard a rider approaching, and then Varric appeared.   
  
"Trail is just ahead, Snowflake. Think you can ride hard for a while?"

Dorian's warmth had made her feel almost human again, and she nodded vigorously. "If it means getting back to Skyhold sooner, I can."

Dorian patted her back then withdrew his hand. "That's my girl."

She rounded the bend and saw the trail stretching out in front of them, wide and smooth. Once they reached Bull, the four of them set off, riding as hard as the horses would allow. They reached the highway and rode on, making camp later that evening and rising before dawn to continue down the road. Evana felt like she hadn't slept at all, but the promise of a warm bed in just another day and a half pushed her onward. They made it nearly to the Frostbacks by dusk that evening, and being so close, they pushed on until dark. When they finally made camp, Evana struggled to stay awake long enough to get the saddle off her horse. Bull finally took it from her and pushed her gently toward the bedroll Dorian had laid out for her.

"Go. We'll take care of all this."

"But the watch," she protested. "I didn't take one last night either. I want to pull my weight."

Bull laughed quietly. "Then, based on our weight ratios, you get the first fifteen minutes, and I'll take the next four hours. Besides, we've only got a few hours ride until we reach Skyhold. We'll sleep when we get back."

She relented, but only because she could barely keep her eyes open even while standing up. The next morning, she saw the weariness in her companions as they saddled the horses and prepared to ride, and the twinge of guilt pinched her hard. They were doing all this for her. Because they believed in her - believed she could make things better.

_Creators, please let them be right._

They rode into Skyhold with quite a bit more fanfare than usual. Usually, she didn't arrive back until late in the evening after the torches had been lit. Now, though, everyone stopped to welcome and bow to her as she rode past the gates and toward the stables. She wished they wouldn't, but she held herself high anyway. They could not see her weak.

Once they reached the stables, Dorian immediately helped her off the horse, and Bull grabbed her bags while Varric headed toward the keep. Dorian tried to put an arm around her, but she held him off.

"No, I can't be seen needing assistance. It will only worry people. I'll take the back stairs through the basement to get to Solas."

Dorian muttered something about her being an "infuriatingly stubborn woman" as he walked ahead of her up the stairs. Once she passed through the kitchen, however, the other mage was waiting to assist her. And good thing, too - even with help, mounting the stairs to Josephine's office wiped her out. The ambassador wasn't in her office, so Dorian half dragged, half carried her to a chair by the fireplace.

"Just rest now," he ordered as he knelt beside her and pushed more blessed warmth into her body. "Varric will bring Solas to you."

Unable to keep her eyes open, she relaxed into the plush chair by the fire as the warmth radiated from Dorian's hand and Josie's hearty fire and leeched into her frozen limbs. The door opened a moment later, and Solas and Varric entered, speaking in low tones as they approached.

"Lethallan, tell me how you are feeling."

She pried her eyes open to see Solas kneeling beside her, a surprising flicker of concern in his expression. She struggled to sit up taller.

"Tired and cold. I can't seem to get warm since the temple."

Varric spoke up. "We ended up going into the temple in the oasis. She opened some stone boxes and pretty lights flew around the room for a moment before ... entering her, I guess?"

Solas arched an eyebrow. "Pretty lights?"

Varric shrugged. "I don't know what you'd call them. They were wispy and glowed. That's all I know."

"Likely some sort of imbuing magic," Dorian clarified. "I felt nothing malignant about it, however. It's a bit of a mystery why she's reacting so poorly."

Solas and Dorian began debating the finer points of magic theory, and though she tried to keep track of the conversation, she found her eyes drifting shut again. She vaguely registered another person entering the room in a rush, but it wasn't until she heard him speak that she knew Cullen had arrived. The anxiety in his voice made her want to get up and comfort him, but her body wouldn't obey any of her commands. She shivered violently and opened her eyes long enough to see Solas leaning over her again, his hands hovering just above her body. Her eyes searched for Cullen, and she found him pacing in front of the fire. He met her gaze, his face etched with worry bordering on panic.

"Her body is simply adjusting to her new resistance," Solas concluded. "She has apparently been imbued with additional resistance to cold magic, but it is currently causing her to feel the cold more acutely. It will pass, and more quickly with rest and relaxation."

"You're sure? How can you tell?"

Cullen's voice reflected his doubt, but Solas answered with patience. "I am familiar with her aura. It has changed - become stronger. It may be that this is a one-time adjustment or she may have to endure this with each new type of resistance she gains. It is difficult to predict such things without having been there to assess the temple and the type of magic imbuing the resistance. I have settled her magic as best I can, but right now, the best thing for her will be sleep and warmth."

Relieved, Evana opened her eyes and tried to sit up from where she slouched in the chair. Solas had told her what she needed to hear. She wasn't dying, so she didn't need special treatment.

"Ma serannas, lethallin. I will head to my quarters."

She barely got halfway out of the chair before Dorian, Cullen and Solas surrounded her. The others hesitated, but Cullen immediately took hold of her, pulling her from the chair and placing and protective arm around her waist once he'd steadied her.

"Really, I'm fine," she forced herself to say, even though his warm, solid presence comforted her in a way she couldn't define. "To avoid gossip, I should attempt to make it to my quarters alone."

Dorian waggled his fingers in front of her. "Ah, but I can provide the warmth. You're going to stand there and tell me you'll have enough focus and energy left after climbing that loooong flight of stairs to warm your own bed? I think not. Let the tongues wag. You need me."

Cullen loosened his hold enough that she could turn and face him. His eyes betrayed his concern, but he seemed much calmer after Solas' proclamation.

"Dorian is right. You need rest, and he can help you with that." He briefly squeezed her hip before dipping his head and lowering his voice to add, "I'll check on you later."

She gazed into the golden eyes she'd so missed and reluctantly assented to be escorted upstairs by Dorian. Cullen seemed just as reluctant to let her go, but finally, he handed her off to Dorian. Thankfully, only a couple of nobles who had taken to hanging around the great hall were there to see her enter the hall with Dorian's arm around her waist. Just as they were turning to head toward her quarters, Cassandra entered the great hall from the courtyard. She walked quickly down the hall to meet them.  
  
"Inquisitor! I heard you had returned. May I assist you?"

"Yes, thank you, Cassandra."

The two had her upstairs in no time. They found a full tub of water waiting for her, so Dorian heated the water as Cassandra helped her undress. She felt a little self conscious in front of Dorian, but the mage just laughed at her.

"Darling, I find you beautiful in the same way I find a sunset beautiful. You are aesthetically pleasing to me, but nothing more."

"That's... good to know, I suppose."

"Take it as a compliment, Your Worship. I don't give them often, but for you, I'll make an exception. Because you've rather grown on me these past few months."

She smiled at him. "That must be why you haven't ditched me for your own bath and a bottle of wine."

Dorian mocked offense, but then shrugged. "Believe you me, I'll get there soon enough. You'll be asleep in no time after your bath."

Indeed, she felt herself drifting to sleep several times before she finally finished cleaning herself entirely. Dorian warmed the water a few times to make sure she wasn't cold and then placed a warming spell in the air around her as she got out and toweled herself dry. He dried her hair while Cassandra pulled out a thick sleeping gown, quickly heated her bed and guided her underneath the blankets.

Evana looked at the mage from her pile of heated blankets. "Dorian, go. You're exhausted. Cassandra will stay here with me, won't you?"

"Of course, Your Worship."

Dorian looked at her through narrowed eyes, but finally shrugged, kissed her on the forehead and practically waltzed out of the room with an "As you wish!"

She laughed weakly at him and then turned to Cassandra, who was now standing a bit awkwardly beside her bed. Evana patted the side of the bed.

"Have a seat. I doubt this will take long. I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open already."

Cassandra hesitated for a moment, but then perched gingerly on the very edge of the bed. "I hope you are comfortable, Inquisitor."

"Yes, thank you. I'm warm for the moment at least." Evana paused, then decided now was as good a time as any. "Cassandra?"

"Yes?"

"Would you call me Evana? Not all the time, of course, but when we're among friends?"

Cassandra seemed a little surprised but answered almost immediately. "I would be happy to... Evana."

"And you don't mind if I call you Cass, do you? If you do, I'll stop right now - I promise."

"I have always tried to avoid the nickname in public, but - as with you - if we only use the name in private, I do not mind."

Evana smiled, but then her face quickly grew serious again. "Oh, I forgot! Could you get the papers from my bag and give them to Cullen? He's waiting for them. I didn't want to risk sending them by crow."

Cassandra smiled and stood from the bed. "I am happy to."

She watched the Seeker pick up a bag to retrieve the letters, but her eyelids were too heavy to watch the progress any more than that. She drifted off to the quiet sound of shuffling papers.

 

**

 

Evana slept like the dead for hours. She woke once toward evening to relieve herself and eat some broth and bread brought up by Cassandra. After shivering herself warm enough to fall asleep again, she woke a second time in the darkness. She had no idea of the time, but the coldness of the room as well as her full bladder told her it was probably two or three in the morning. She threw the covers back and sucked in a breath as the cold hit her. In the dim light of the dying fire, she barely saw the dark form at the side of her bed before she tripped over it.

"Fenedhis! What-?"  
  
"Oooff!!"

After several seconds of flailing limbs, she found herself sitting on the floor, or rather on the lap of someone sitting on the floor. Too weak to summon any magic, she tried to push away but found herself encircled by rather familiar pair of arms.

"Cullen?"  
  
"Yes. I'm here."  
  
"Wha- what are you doing on the floor, vhenan?"

His pause let her know he was somewhat embarrassed at being caught. "I- I came to check on you, but you were asleep. I thought I'd wait for a while to see if you woke up, and then... I fell asleep."

Her muddled brain still couldn't comprehend his words. "On the floor?"

"Yes? Where else would I..."

"On the couch perhaps, or better yet, in the bed with me, keeping me warm. I'm so c-cold."

As if on cue, her body convulsed with the cold and his warm arms circled around her more tightly. She hummed in appreciation. Unfortunately, it also reminded her why she'd woken in the first place.

"I have to... uh... take care of something. I'll be back."

She returned from her private room to find Cullen, sans armor, sitting on the edge of her bed and looking at her rather shyly in the light of the fire he'd built up in her absence. Even with the extra heat, her body shook with the cold. She ran past him and snuggled down into the blankets, but it was too late. The bed had gone cold. She reached up and tugged at his arm gently.

"P-please, will you stay awhile? I'm so c-cold. At least until I g-get warm? Then you can go... if you w-want."

Cullen didn't say anything. Instead, he pulled off his boots and slid under the blankets next to her. She scooted toward him, and he reached out to pull her back against him, wrapping around her small body in a cocoon of delicious warmth. She let out a loud gush of air as her back met with his solid chest.

"Creators... h-how are you s-so warm?"

He chuckled softly in her ear as his warm breath fanned her neck. "I don't know, but I'm glad I can be of use."

She reached back and pulled his arm around her under the covers. "I m-missed y-you. And n-not just because you're w-warm."

He laughed outright. "I'm glad of that." She felt his lips brush her ear and then her neck, and a different kind of shiver spread through her body. His voice was hesitant as he continued. "But mostly, I- I'm simply glad you have returned and that you... Solas says you will be well soon." He paused and took a deep breath before whispering, "I... I missed you so much."

She couldn't respond. Her heart was too full. She let the silence lay over them like a comfortable blanket as his warmth radiated through her. The shivers diminished to the occasional shudder. Each time a shudder ran through her, she would feel an almost imperceptible tightening of Cullen's arm around her, as if he were trying to pull her even closer. She felt herself beginning to drift again, but part of her wanted to stay awake - to savor the feel of him so close to her. It couldn't last, though. She was far too tired to keep sleep at bay.

She woke again mid morning, and she was alone. Someone had left a tray of porridge and some fruit on her bedside table, and they must have built up the fire again, too. She assumed Cullen had left as soon as she'd fallen asleep, but she couldn't be sure.

She smiled to herself as she recalled the feeling of his body next to hers. Her craving for his touch still surprised her. Even something as simple as a brush of the back of his hand was enough to fluster her completely. To feel him next to her, the length of his body curling around her - it was almost too much.

And yet not enough.

She threw back the covers and realized that, for the first time in days, she didn't feel like she might freeze to death. The occasional chill ran through her, but she didn't want to stay in bed any longer. Opening the curtains wide, she let the sunlight filter into the room and then sat down in the expanse of sun cutting across the carpeted floor. She heated the stone cold porridge and began sifting through four weeks of reports. The mountainous pile was daunting, but she soon realized a majority were simply reports from her advisors to keep her informed about matters they'd dealt with in her absence. She dug in and started reading.

A couple of hours later, the sun had shifted angles, so she grabbed a blanket and transferred her work to the couch. Slightly after the noon hour, she heard a faint click of her lock and rattle at the door. Solas appeared at the top of the stairs with a tray in hand.

"Good morning... or should I say afternoon?" she called to him.

Solas turned in the direction of her voice and nodded to her. "I have brought you some broth and bread for lunch... unless you feel well enough to come downstairs?"

Evana didn't want to stay in bed, but she also had no desire to show herself to anyone either. "I think I'd like to stay bundled up here next to the fire, if that's alright with my friends and advisors."

Solas gave her a soft smile as he approached with the tray. "Ma nuvenin, lethallan. I also came up to examine you briefly. May I? I would like to confirm that the adjustment of your body to the new resistance is progressing as I thought it might."

"Of course."

Solas set the tray on the table and crouched in front of her. He raised his hands to hover close to her as she sat. His magic flowed over her, and she briefly closed her eyes, feeling herself pulled toward him. Confused, she flushed slightly and glanced at Solas. Thankfully, he was not looking at her face. She swallowed hard and tried to focus on something - anything - else. After a few moments, he nodded and stood.

"It is as I thought. I have further settled your magic, but keep yourself warm and continue to rest today. You should be back to normal by tomorrow."

He then bowed and turned away, as if he were going to leave. The words left her mouth before she could think better of them.

"Will you not keep me company for a while, Solas?"

He looked back at her and a shadow passed across his face. The next moment, the shadow disappeared as if it had never been, and he turned back to sit in the space she cleared for him on the couch.

"I am glad that you are feeling better," he began quietly. "Dorian and I have discussed the various possibilities and have yet to come up with a viable explanation to the severity of your reaction. However, I do not believe you were in any real danger, despite appearances."

"Ma serannas. I have to admit - I was relieved by your assurances yesterday. I thought perhaps... perhaps I might have been foolish to just accept the magic instead of be wary of it."

"You were worried you had poisoned yourself with magic?"

"It is possible."

Solas considered. "Yes, I suppose it is for lesser people. But you are not one of those lesser people. You are strong and wise and willful. I have great respect for you, lethallan."

Her mouth gaped open, but she quickly shut it and smiled warmly at him. "Ma serannas. I feel the same about you, lethallin. I respect you and your talents greatly."

A sad smile passed over his face, but it quickly faded to serenity. "The peace talks at Halamshiral are approaching quickly. Have you thought of who you will take with you?"

"There are so many reasons I might take each of you. I think I've settled on Cassandra for sure. She'll hate it all, but her connection to nobility lends credence to our position in the Game."

Solas nodded thoughtfully. "Have you considered Cole? He might help you sort through all the intrigue."

"I thought of that, but I'm worried so many people would be distracting for him. I'll certainly consider it. I'd rather let Varric rest before the assault on Adamant. And Sera..."

"Would not do well in a ballroom full of nobles."

Evana sighed and shot Solas a wry grin. "Precisely. This is another moment when I feel I did our cause an injustice by ignoring Madame de Fer's invitation up to now. She would be an asset in this situation. I guess I'll see when I meet with her in Halamshiral."

"I understand your point, but I feel I must caution you. She is misguided about mages and believes that Circles are a good thing. She is willfully stubborn. Nothing you say will ever change that - which means instead of a help during this time, she would be constantly questioning your decisions. We do not need her. She needs us. Do not forget that."

Evana tried to hide her grin but finally gave up. "We are of one mind on that, at least."

"I have found us to be of one mind on a great many things. Those few things on which we do not see eye to eye should not define our relationship, do you not agree?"

She tried not to react to Solas' word choice but answered carefully nonetheless. "I do agree. I value your friendship and council. I hope we can always be as open and honest with each other as we are now."

Solas said nothing but turned his eyes away from her. They sat for a few moments in silence. Then he shook his head.

"I should go."

"Oh... alright." He stood and walked to the door, but she stopped him with her words. "Whatever it is, Solas - whatever makes you sad - I'm sorry for it."

His back was still to her, straight and tense. After a moment, he turned his head slightly toward her and spoke.

"I know, lethallan."

He quickly disappeared down the stairs, and she was left alone with her reports once more. Despite her time with Solas practicing her focus, learning new spells and reviewing healing spells, he was still a mystery to her - impenetrable and a little bit frightening - but he'd always been kind.

Kind but distant and uncommunicative... just like Hanir.

And suddenly, her initial wariness of him made a lot more sense. She knew logically that they weren't the same person, of course, but the similarities had been enough for her to keep her distance - that and her distinct feeling that he was hiding something. The feeling had only grown since she'd known him, and unlike Varric, she knew she hadn't uncovered the source of her gut feeling.

Solas' secrets were not her concern, however. Or, at least she hoped they weren't. It seemed secrets in the inner circle always ended up being connected to the Inquisition in one way or another.

Her eyes wandered to the reports sitting in her lap, but she pushed them aside to eat. Bull had harped at her constantly about her eating - or lack thereof - so she'd taken to eating whatever they put in front of her whether hungry or not. Although she hadn't gained any weight with the travel rations, she hadn't lost anything in the last couple of weeks either. She wasn't about to give Bull another reason to be mother hen. Besides, she still had a few more hours of reading reports to get through the stack on her desk. Then maybe she'd take a nap.

Yes, an afternoon nap sounded like just the thing.


	38. In which the murder queen has a crisis of conscience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think the title says it all.

Leliana let out a puff of exasperation as she paced in front of Josephine's desk. "Solas said she was fine, no? Why can we not at least speak with her?"

"If you will remember, Cullen asked us not to... and we agreed."

Leliana stopped pacing, placed both hands on the ambassador's desk and shot her a conspiratorial look. "Yes, this _morning_ at our council meeting - before Solas evaluated her this _afternoon_ and said she was _fine_..." She paused, her mouth curving into a playful smile. "If you don't tell, I won't."

Josephine's face transformed from frustrated to amused in a split second. "You really believe our Inquisitor could keep a secret from her friend... now lover?"

"She's been practicing at the Game for months. Surely she could-"

"Keeping secrets from nobles - or 'fat-heads' as she so lovingly calls them - is altogether different than keeping secrets from Cullen. She would probably volunteer the information before he even thought to ask."

Leliana pushed off from the desk and started pacing again. "Well, what of it? Cullen wouldn't dare do anything to compromise the Inquisition. His dark looks and unspoken threats are toothless."

Josephine sighed and steepled her fingers. "My dear, you are my closest friend, and I love you, but that is not the point. And you know it."

Leliana huffed again before finally stopping to perch on the edge of the desk. "He is being overprotective. You'd think they were married."

Josephine let out a soft sigh, and Leliana shot her an exasperated look. The ambassador just shrugged.

"What? I think it's sweet."

"You would."

She smiled at Josephine to take the sting out of her words and then turned to stare into the fire. They had so much to do and so little time. The peace talks were little more than a week away, and three of those days would be spent traveling. They would be able to speak and practice on the way to a certain extent, but riding wasn't exactly conducive to in-depth conversations. No, the remaining work must be done in the next few days.

"A younger Leliana would have thought it sweet, too," Josephine reminded her quietly after a short pause.

Leliana felt the implication in Josie's words, and a strange sort of regret rose up in her chest. After a moment, however, Josephine changed the subject.

"At least Dorian's report of the Inquisitor's dancing is positive. I believe his exact words were 'after a month with me, her dancing is positively sublime.'"

Leliana shook off her brief melancholy and laughed at the ambassador's rather good impression of the Tevinter mage. "Yes, it will earn us some points with the nobles, but we have much more to do. We must ensure she won't ask the wrong questions - or at least not ask them before she has the information needed to blackmail them."

"Well, then we will work diligently in the next few days to smooth out any remaining issues. I don't believe one day will make much difference. All the preparations these last few months will carry us," Josephine asserted with a confidence Leliana wished she could afford. Josie paused, and when she continued, her tone held a cautious, questioning note. "I know we are attending with the intention of saving the Empress if possible, but realistically - between Empress Celene and her cousin Gaspard - which do you think should be on the throne?"

Leliana considered a moment before answering hesitantly. "Part of me argues that we need to maintain the status quo. Keep Celene on the throne and silence her detractors. But Gaspard holds sway with much of Orlais, and he and his chevaliers would be a formidable ally in the fight against Corypheus."

"What about after, though? I mean - presuming there _is_ an after."

"He would be difficult to deal with after. His bloodlust is too strong. The darkest blackmail would only keep him in line for a time. We would eventually have to broker some sort of peace treaty between Orlais and Ferelden to prevent Gaspard from invading. Even then..."

Josephine nodded, worry written all over her face. "That is what I think, too. Gaspard would be a huge asset in the short term, but a great risk to the peace in the long term."

"It may be worth it, however. We cannot afford to be choosy when it comes to allies. If you will remember, we have an apparently indestructible enemy on our hands."

"Empress Celene would ally with us if we support her."

Leliana shook her head. "But she lacks the undying loyalty of the chevaliers."

"Well, I hope we can prove he is plotting to murder her. That will garner sympathy for Celene... Unless he's not the one in league with Corypheus... We simply won't know for sure until we get there."

Leliana gave her a wry smile. "Too true." She hesitated, her eyes unfocusing and falling to the deeply grooved desktop. Her voice turned quiet as she added, "She's too soft."

Josephine's gave her a quizzical look. "Who do you mean? The Empress?"

"No," Leliana denied with a quick shake of her head. "The Inquisitor. I told you how she forbade me to dispatch my agent Butler when he betrayed us, yes? Then, after Haven, she tried to tell me I was right to pull back my scouts when the first lookouts went missing. My mistake - my hesitance - cost us Haven, but she would have me believe it was the right choice. Will she be able to make the hard choice if the Grand Game presents her with a difficult decision? How much more will leniency and hesitancy cost us?"

Josephine was slow to respond. "Well... I don't know..."

Leliana understood immediately that Josephine was tempering her words. She shook her head.

"Josie," she admonished in hushed tones, her eyes briefly lighting on her friend's before falling to the desk again, "how long have we known one another? If you have something to say, say it."

The ambassador huffed a little but spoke softly in return. "Perhaps the Inquisitor simply recognizes the benefit of a proportional response. We know from Cassandra's reports that she offers mercy to all her opponents whenever possible, but I think it's a mistake to confuse that offer of mercy for weakness - for being soft. She... seems to be quite.... discerning when it comes to reading a person's thoughts or intentions. As for Haven..." Josephine paused before continuing in a firm tone. "There's no use questioning what happened. It is done. Although, I happen to agree with the Inquisitor. You cannot know that leaving them in the field would have given us any sort of advantage - not with an apparent archdemon in the mix. It's better to save lives."

Leliana had expected Josephine's response. The woman was a diplomat after all. Even so, the words soothed something deep inside her. As with each nudge and encouragement from their slight, elven leader, Josie's words reached inside and shone a small glimmer of light on the festering wound deep inside her. She had thought to blame the Divine's death for ripping it open, but after months of reflection, she could no longer claim that as truth. The wound had been there for years - never allowed to heal, growing a little larger with each harsh but necessary decision and with each year that passed without Neria by her side. The death of the Divine had simple revealed the yawning depth and breadth of the sickness inside her, ripped a hole in the wall she'd built around it, exposed the source of the poison seeping through her waking and sleeping thoughts.

She'd tried desperately to cauterize it with work and duty. It would leave an ugly scar, but at least the sickness would be locked away, deep inside. Somehow, though, each word from the Inquisitor and each nudge from Josephine had begun something Leliana had never thought possible without the presence of her love by her side.

The wound was beginning to heal. Not a small suture, but a real, lasting healing that left her unsure of herself.

It was a strange feeling to be allowed - encouraged even - to care about individual lives as well as the greater good. While doing Justinia's work, she'd lost her sense of rightness. Or rather buried it in the name of doing what must be done. Perhaps that was how the wound started. Now, at the urging of friends both new and old, her conscience fought for freedom in the growing concern for her team when planning and dispatching agents, the slight shift in strategy to assure contingencies for scouts in the field, the greater willingness to rescue captured or compromised spies. After years of ruthlessness, the shimmers of softness in her facade made her uncomfortable, awkward... and yet...

She couldn't deny that the changes had wrought positive effects. Morale had improved greatly in her team. They fought harder, practiced longer, volunteered more often. And for the first time in years, she felt she might be able to look Neria in the eye without shame. She wondered if she might also be able to pray tonight with a heart free from her usual bitterness. She'd once taken such comfort in the Maker's presence around her. It had been so long since she'd felt that. A familiar urge overcame her, but she straightened her shoulders instead, her eyes rising and focusing once more on her friend who looked at her now with a kind of knowing sympathy Leliana despised.

"Perhaps you are right," she conceded. Josie narrowed her eyes slightly at the spymaster's too easy acceptance. Standing from her perch on the desk, Leliana graced her with a funny little bow. "Thank you as always for the lovely conversation, but I've had enough of wondering and conjecturing. I'm going to go speak with Cullen about his _request_."

Josephine merely raised her eyebrows before picking up her quill and setting back to her work. "Let me know how that ends for you."

Leliana laughed as she passed out of the ambassador's office and into the great hall. The place bustled with dinner preparations, and a few of the companions had already gathered for the evening meal. Suddenly, a thought struck her. _I wonder who's taking the Inquisitor_ her _evening meal?_

Quietly re-entering the space between the great hall and Josie's office, she skipped lightly down the stairs and reached the kitchen in record time.

"Hello! Do we have a tray for the Inquisitor's evening meal?"

A scullery maid nodded to a tray on the edge of a far table as she passed by with a large serving platter of roast chicken. "There, Sister. Solas ordered it be taken up to her, but if you're offering..."

"Of course. That's why I came. I was headed there anyway."

The maid gave her a grateful but awkward curtsey, tray and all. "Thank you kindly, Sister. Saves us some time and worry."

"My pleasure."

Leliana picked up the tray and walked back the way she came. She looked around at the hall to make sure one person in particular hadn't decided to join in. No Cullen. Good. Not that he normally joined the group, but it would be just the thing for him to show up the one night she wanted to get around him. She quickly traveled the short distance through the great hall, balanced the tray in one hand and opened the door to the Inquisitor's quarters.

The stairs took more time than normal - not that she'd been to the Inquisitor's chambers more than a few times since arriving in Skyhold. In reality, the elf spent very little time in her room. Leliana felt a small pang of conscience as she quietly removed her key and unlocked the door. Almost everyone, even the kitchen, had a key to the Inquisitor's chambers, so it wasn't exactly secure - more of a formality, really. But it also ensured they would have access in case of an emergency. Or in case a nosy spymaster wanted to check in on her Inquisitor.

She walked silently up the final staircase, pausing to look over the banister as she reached the top. A small lump in the center of the large bed was Leliana's only indication the Inquisitor was even there. Walking up the remaining steps, Leliana quietly moved around the bed to place the tray on the bedside table. The Inquisitor had maneuvered the blankets to cover every part of her body except her face. Her breathing was slow and even.

Leliana bent over the sleeping form and studied the Inquisitor's face in the fading evening light. Despite her peaceful countenance, Leliana could see the black circles of exhaustion extending from the elf's vallaslin. Another pang of guilt shot through her.

Silent steps took her to the fireplace where she built up the fire. There, she saw the multiple piles of papers lined up on the couch, all sorted and signed. The Inquisitor _had_ been working today.

Leliana looked over each pile and then turned her eyes to the now empty desk. The Inquisitor had gone through the entire last month's worth of reports today. In one day. The guilt hit her harder. _Time to leave._

Taking the steps down to the great hall, Leliana opened the door just in time to run headlong into Cullen. Shocked at his sudden appearance, Leliana backed into the tower a little bit. Cullen followed, his initial shock contorting into a thunderous look of disapproval. She raised her hands. She wasn't in any way afraid of the man, but she also didn't want a fight - not that she thought Cullen would lose control in that sort of way.  
  
"I just took her a dinner tray," she assured him in a placating tone. "That is all. I promise."

"Oh? And why were _you_ taking up the tray? Taking on kitchen staff duties in your free time?"

His voice dripped with sarcasm. She simply raised an eyebrow.

"I happened to be on the way to check up on her. You are allowed to check in on our Inquisitor, but I am not?"

"I don't plan to ply her with questions and work."

"I didn't either... or rather..."

Leliana could have easily maintained the lie, but the look on Cullen's face gave her pause. Josephine was right. The man's anger might be all talk, but it wasn't about that. Leliana truly did like the ex-templar, and lying would only create further distance between them, whereas the truth...

"Alright," she relented. "Perhaps I would have asked her a few questions, but nothing too taxing. In any case, it doesn't matter. She is asleep."

Cullen just let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head at her. His face, however, softened slightly, and Leliana felt a small prick of satisfaction at her success. She did not wish to be at odds with him.

Standing in silence a moment longer, she finally added, "At least I didn't wake her. And she worked anyway, without any prompting from me."

"What do you mean?"

Leliana shrugged. "Look for yourself when you go. All the reports are done."

"From the whole last month? She finished them all today? How does one even read that fast?" He grunted unhappily. "Infuriating woman."

"Are you referring to me or _your_ Inquisitor?" she teased with a barely contained chuckle.

The light in the tower had waned considerably, but the tinge of red that suffused his face was unmistakable.

"Yes... well," he stumbled, "both of you, perhaps. She was supposed to be resting today so she would be refreshed and ready to prepare for the peace talks."

"What is the old saying? You can lead a horse to water..."

Cullen sighed. "Indeed."

"So, may I pass now?"

"What?" Cullen looked around him, seeming to only now comprehend that his large form blocked the doorway. "Oh, yes. Yes, of course."

He moved aside, and Leliana gave him a sly look. "Now, don't _you_ go wearing her out before tomorrow, _Commander_."

She darted out into the great hall, and left him stuttering in the tower. Varric beckoned her from a table, so she walked down to join the others for dinner. It would be nice to be surrounded by friends for a time.

Perhaps later, she'd visit the garden... and the small chapel contained within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whenever I write Leliana, I can't help but think of and giggle at [this Tumblr meme](https://hawketrashsquad.tumblr.com/post/155384173952/softening-leliana-be-like).
> 
> Next up... fluff with a side of angst!! (It's Cullen's chapter. You should not be surprised.)


	39. In which blooming hearts bring deeper harmony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen comes closer to necessary confessions while becoming more comfortable with his newfound happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for Chapter 38 being so short, have a ridiculously long Chapter 39.

Cullen took the steps slowly. If she were truly asleep, he wanted to be as quiet as possible. He knew how to walk quietly when necessary, but his armor still emitted soft clinks as he climbed toward her room _._ He grimaced at the sounds as reached her outer door, and after a moment of indecision, he removed his armor, moving slowly to minimize the sounds. Once he'd taken off all but his tunic, breeches and boots, he quietly unlocked the door and eased up the stairs.

Slowing his steps, he approached the still form underneath heavy blankets. He had no desire to disturb her, but he ached to simply be near her. He walked around and knelt beside the bed to study her face in the darkening room. Dusk had fallen early, as was typical in the mountains, but the final glow of the setting sun left him just enough light to take in her serene but exhausted expression. Suddenly, the weight of their task, the weight of his own duties and the ones he knew she carried, felt unbearable. He couldn't help the soft sigh that escaped his lips.

Suddenly, one eye cracked open, and then both her vivid eyes were staring at him as a small smile curved her lips. His heart gave a jolting thump, and he grinned like a fool in response.

"Oh, it's you," she breathed.

"I... I just came to check on you," he explained, his cheeks flaming from being caught so blatantly staring. "I thought you were asleep."  
  
"I just laid down for a nap when I heard someone come in... Someone from the kitchen I suppose. They left a tray and built up the fire. I didn't want to frighten whoever it was, so I pretended to be asleep. Then you came."

Cullen lifted himself off the floor and sat next to her on the side of the bed. He wanted to touch her, but he wasn't sure how - or if - he should. As if in answer to his unspoken question, she threw the covers off, sat up and snaked her arms around his neck. He gladly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. Her muffled whisper caused his heart to thump painfully against his ribs once again.

"I missed you so."

"And I you," he responded quietly. "But you said that last night."

"I can only say it once?" she inquired with a little laugh. "Besides, I wasn't sure if that was just a dream."

He laughed and pulled her closer as he tried to shut out the doubt and exhaustion that plagued him by replaying her gentle words in his head. A small, involuntary tremor ran through his body as he recalled holding her in the night. He hadn't meant to, but he'd fallen asleep with her body pressed snugly against his.

"It was no dream. I hope I didn't wake you when I left."

"No. When... when _did_ you leave?"

"Later than I should have - it was nearly dawn."

Just in time to get out of her quarters relatively undetected. He'd met a few early risers on his way through the courtyard, but none of them said anything - not to his face, anyway. _A little more gossip to feed the fire_ , he supposed. That small part of him that preferred privacy was overruled by the much larger part of him that had reveled in the few short hours he'd held her and slept soundly with no nightmares to interrupt his slumber.

He was roused from his musings and let out a short puff of air as he felt her lips ghost across the hollow of his neck. Her voice came again, still a little muffled, but louder this time.

"Where's your armor, Commander?"

He smiled into her hair. "At the bottom of the stairs. I didn't want to wake you with all that clanking metal. It seems I needn't have bothered."

"But I'm glad you did. It's far nicer to feel _you_ instead of plate metal."

"I can't argue with that," he murmured. He paused briefly, then added, "Thank you for collecting the letters."

She let out a short laugh. "You're very welcome."

Her breath fanned his neck as she sighed contentedly. Feeling her soft body molded against him, he marveled at how she fit so perfectly with him - as if they were puzzle pieces snapping together. Had the Maker designed them for each other? To be brought together by this trial? It seemed ridiculous to think so, and yet she was his perfect counterbalance in so many ways. Where he was rough and harsh, she was kind and forgiving. Where he was weak, she bolstered him - she had faith in him. He was quick to anger and even vengeful at times, but she was the embodiment of patience.

Yet what did he give her in return? What had he to offer? She'd said that he understood her like no one else. Perhaps he did, but was it enough? He was not worthy of her, that much he knew for sure. And yet he'd selfishly claimed her anyway. Words and deeds spanning more than a decade pushed down on his consciousness - a deep hate for mages that had taken years to overcome, a stringent belief in a black and white world in which templars were a force of good and a fervent denial of the abuses happening all around him. The dream, now more than a week behind him, still haunted his thoughts. Would he have cared for her five years ago? Even three years ago?

_And you still need to tell her about the Ferelden Circle... about Uldred._ He held her tighter, and another tremor flowed through his body as the horrors he'd buried away long ago threatened to resurface.

"What is it, ma vhenan?"

She hadn't pulled away, yet, but he could feel her grasp loosening. He drew long, deep breaths as he tightened his arms around her and tried to calm the panic, tried to pull himself out of the dark thoughts. She let out a small huff at his crushing grip and gently pushed away from him. He mumbled an apology, letting his arms fall limply around her. He barely held in a groan as he read the concern written all over her face when she pulled back to look at him.

"Please, tell me?"

He ducked his head and rested his forehead on her shoulder, still breathing deeply. Her hand came up to hold the back of his neck, caressing him as if attempting to sooth him with his own nervous gesture. Another wave of self-loathing and unworthiness pushed up from inside and threatened to overwhelm him. How could he tell her? She already carried so much. She didn't need to carry his insecurities as well. He would not be a burden to her.

Her head dropped until their cheeks met. He tried to force the emotions back down inside - down where they belonged - but her soft "Cullen?" stopped him. Even if he couldn't speak now, he couldn't keep shutting her out like this. Unbidden, a ghost of a thought, of words that weren't his own, echoed in his head: _Uldred marked you but didn't make you. You stayed you._ He shuddered again.

"I can't speak of it... not... not yet... But I... may I just hold you?"

She took a deep breath and put her hands on either side of his face. He let her gently lift his face until they were looking into each other's eyes.

"Of course," she replied with a quiet conviction even his irrational fears couldn't deny. "I love nothing more than being in your arms."

Then she wrapped her arms around him once again and simply held him. Her words soothed his anxiety and calmed his fears. She wanted to be with him. She cared for him. Maker only knew why, but it was her choice, too. And she'd chosen him.

He drew a tremulous breath and suddenly pulled her out from under the covers and onto his lap. Burying his head in her neck, he inhaled deeply of the heady blend of flowers and her own particular earthy fragrance. Instead of being drawn into his dark thoughts, he let her presence and the soft caresses of her hands against his neck and shoulders comfort him. He would work harder to be worthy of her. Perhaps someday he could actually be the man she deserved. For now, this was enough.

A calmness settled over them as he closed his eyes and matched his breathing with hers. He couldn't say how long they sat entwined, but when he opened his eyes, they were enveloped in darkness. He raised his head and let out a long sigh. Leaving her seemed harder each time he had to do it.

"I should return to work."

A muffled "hmmphf" was her only response as she tightened her arms around him. He let out a breathy laugh.

"I have much to do - and you need to rest. Tomorrow, the work begins. Though I've heard you spent today finishing reports?"

"A few."

"Or all of them?"

Her lips feathered across his neck. He willed his body to remain still as she responded, "Maybe."

"You're not good at the resting thing, are you?"

"Not when there's work to be done. And neither are you."

Cullen had to laugh at that. "I feel like we've had a similar conversation before."

She pressed her lips firmly into his neck, then nipped at his skin. Despite his attempt at control, he shivered.

"We have. It was about sleeping more."

"Ahh... yes," he responded, keeping his voice steady with great effort. "I recall now. We agreed that neither of us would get what we wanted."

She kissed his neck again, this time a little further up. "Mmmm-hmmmm."

"Evana..."

He'd meant it to come out as a playful warning, but it came out a breathless plea instead. She took that as encouragement and trailed kisses up his neck, her warm, soft mouth setting fire to his senses with each press of her lush lips. He only had a moment to curse his lack of discipline before his desire for her cleared all other thoughts from his head. Dragging in shallow, tremulous breaths, he let his hands begin to wander across her back and sides, and she sighed lustily into his skin.

She'd been gone so long, he'd started to become used to the dull ache in his chest. With her here, however, he felt so full - of love and of gratitude and of all the things he wanted to say to her. He suddenly wondered how he'd ever survived without her in his life. Maker, what would he do if she...

Her lips danced over his skin with delightful pressure and distracted him from his thoughts. He swept his hands up her ribs, his thumbs brushing over the outer edges of her breasts. Her breath quickened against his skin, and she arched her back into him. Her mouth had nearly reached his ear, but he could wait no longer. He turned his head and claimed her lips with the force of a man too long denied. The feel of her came back to him then - the wet lushness of her lips under his, the soft give of her body under his roving fingers, the small whimpers at the back of her throat as he nibbled her lower lip with his teeth. She opened up to him, and he delved into her, eager to taste her sweetness again.

She tasted of herbs - of mint. He vaguely registered it must have been her healing tea. The thought took hold, however, as his more coherent self admonished that she was still recovering from an unknown reaction. He half-heartedly tried to pull away, but her lips followed him. The heat of her body against his fought with his better judgment, and he allowed her to move off his lap and kneel on the bed beside him. Wrapping his arms fully around her waist to pull her against him again, he lifted his face, and she pressed her lips against his forcefully as her hands alternately caressed his face, neck, shoulders and back, intoxicating him with her passionate response.

Soft fabric caught on his calluses as he kneaded his fingers into her back and hips. The crackle of fabric under his hands only heightened his awareness of her every curve, and his hand skimmed down over her bottom to the back of her thighs and up again. The blood rushed in his ears as he began to move faster - pulling her closer, deepening the kisses, letting his hands come dangerously close to those places he burned to touch.

Warning bells went off in the back of his head, but he didn't want to stop... Even if he couldn't tell her now, he could _show_ her how he felt... he could just lay her down and... and... _Maker, just a little bit more..._

Suddenly, she dragged her lips away from his and laughed breathlessly. "I'm sorry. That wasn't fair of me. I shouldn't have started that... not here... I mean..." She laughed again and draped her arms over his shoulders, giving him a chagrinned look. "I just missed your touch... your presence... Have I mentioned that I missed you?"

He slid his hands up from dangerous territory to her hips and rested his forehead against her cheek as he attempted to calm his breathing. Unable to help himself, his fingers kneaded into the sensuous dimples on her lower back even as his palms rested on her sides. He marveled again at how small and delicate she seemed. It was a dangerous mistake for her enemies, but here in this darkened room, on her bed, she was even more dangerous to him and his fraying self control. He smiled wryly to himself. How did she manage to strip away his tried and tested iron will in a matter of minutes?

"It's alright," he assured her. "It's not as if I resisted... I mean, it's not as if I don't want... to... to... ah..." He laughed wryly, a hand rising up to rub at his neck as he leaned back to look at her. "I only tried to pull away because I remembered you were ill."

"Hmmmm... I'm feeling much better. I _should_ probably get more sleep, though. And... you said you have work to do?"

"Um... yes. I have much to do to prepare for the peace talks. Leliana and I have nearly completed the details, but I'd like to double check our numbers and go over orders with the soldiers..."

Cullen realized he was suddenly talking about Inquisition matters and blushed. He'd done exactly what he'd warned Leliana against.

"Err... I didn't really mean to talk about business..."

"I started it, ma vhenan. I've been a little under the weather, but I know there's still much to be done."

Cullen shook his head in the dark. "But no more for you tonight."

"Agreed, as long as _you_ promise to go to sleep at a decent hour."

"I will do my very best."

In the dim glow of the firelight, he saw her arch an eyebrow at him. Nevertheless, she bent her head to gently kiss him again before climbing over him and offering him a hand up. The gesture was comical, but he placed his hand in hers anyway. She tugged, and when he stood up off the bed, he was reminded forcefully of their size difference.

"To be clear, I don't _want_ you to leave," she murmured. "I just know you have to."

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead as she looked up at him. "I know the feeling. If there were anyone else who could do what you do, I'd send them out to close all the rifts and keep you here. Just to... just to have you always near me." Bending down, he kissed her deeply before letting her go. "Now, back into bed, Your Worship."

"But I was going to-"

"You need rest. Your Commander _commands_ you back to bed. I know where the door is and... you'll only distract me if you follow me down the stairs." She huffed a little, so he swept her up into his arms and kissed her again. "You know exactly what I mean."

She hummed contentedly as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. "Yes, I suppose I do."

He reached down to pull back the covers and deposited her gently on the bed. "Goodnight, my dear."

"Goodnight, ma vhenan. I hope you sleep well."

Bending down for one final kiss, he moved away from the bed and took the stairs as quickly as possible. He managed to lock the door and put his armor on in the dark - many early mornings had taught him how to do it by feel. Then, he descended the rest of the stairs to the main hall. Crossing through the hall and Solas' office, he reached his own office to find one of Leliana's messengers waiting patiently at his own locked door.

"Can I help you?"

"Oh, Commander, ser... yes. Leliana requested I wait here for your report on the Inquisitor's condition."

"The Inquisitor is fine."

The messenger hesitated as Cullen turned away to unlock his door. "Uh... is that... is that all?"

Cullen didn't bother to hide his frustration. Leliana was still teasing him... through one of her messengers no less. Classic.

"Yes, that is all. Good evening," he growled.

"Um... very good... yes... Good evening, Com-"

Cullen slammed the door closed before the messenger had even finished speaking.

 

**

 

The next day, they met briefly to review Evana's progress in the Western Approach as well as the content of the letters she'd retrieved from the Emerald Graves.

Cullen moved a piece to the Orlais section of the map. "It looks like the red lyrium is coming from the Emprise du Lion. We've sent scouts to the area and should hear back within the next few days. It's not something we can act on right now, but it will be good to keep tabs on activity. Perhaps once we deal with the peace talks and Grey Wardens, we can focus attention on crippling the red templars."

Leliana nodded. "I agree that we'll need to wait. It's hard to prioritize these things, but at least the red templars are a known threat. Demon armies and entire countries thrown into chaos simply must take precedence."

Evana nodded, a sardonic smile on her lips. "Pick your battles, as they say. So, shall we begin with the most imminent danger? I can't wait to practice being smug and uppity."

Cullen tried in vain to hold back his laughter and ended up letting out a quiet but undignified snort. Evana couldn't hold back a grin as she turned to him, and they shared a mutual look of amusement. Josephine, however, was not amused.

"Laugh all you like, you two, but this is important. It could spell doom for southern Thedas if Orlais falls into chaos."

Cullen mumbled an apology while fighting down his grin and heard Evana do the same.

Josephine, somewhat placated, continued, "Leliana and I will take turns practicing scenarios with you for the next few days. We'll also need to update you on court gossip from the last few weeks. Are you ready to begin?"

Evana took a deep breath and nodded. "Lead the way, Josie."

They filed out of the war room, and Cullen gave her a quick smile and head tilt as he left Josephine's office. She returned his smile before Leliana and Josephine captured her attention.

For the next few days, Cullen barely saw her - not that he would have had much time to give her even if she'd been available. The other advisors kept her busy late into the night, and she apologized to him the second day, then again the third and fourth days, for missing their nightly tea. They'd also talked of him teaching her more about chess, but clearly that wasn't going to happen any time soon. He did miss it all - missed seeing her - but simply knowing she was there and within a short walk of him if he really needed to see her was comforting.

And he did enjoy the once or twice a day she'd taken to sneaking away to have a "break" with him. After the resulting gossip from their first kiss on the battlements, she'd requested a more secluded spot. The top of the second gate tower, yet to be renovated and close by, hid them from the prying eyes of Skyhold. Their breaks were always much too short, but he came to look forward to the stolen moments in which she greeted him with open arms and warm lips. By the fourth day - after collecting his gloves off the half rotted wood roof at the end of each encounter and even forgetting them completely once - he'd taken to leaving his gloves on his desk when he went to meet her.

The morning of the fifth day came early as they packed up and headed out on horseback. Evana had chosen to bring Cassandra, Cole and Dorian with her. She'd expressed concern in their final meeting at bringing someone from Tevinter, but Leliana had assured her that Dorian's standing in Imperium society would be enough to keep the nobles from behaving too badly around him or harming their already tenuous standing with the court. Besides, Leliana and Josephine hoped to have the influential Madam de Fer joining them as well, which would greatly improve court opinion.

His mind briefly wandered back to their plan to infiltrate the Winter Palace. Soldiers had left with Leliana's agents two days earlier and would be traveling in small groups off the main road in order to arrive and get into position before the main envoy arrived. He'd sent some of his best soldiers ahead of them and more now traveled with them as the Inquisitor's retinue, but the idea of political intrigue and assassination made him uneasy. Balls and masquerades were exactly the kind of thing he hated. He knew Evana felt the same.

Perhaps that was why, as he rode beside her on the Imperial Highway, he could feel the nervous energy radiating off her in waves. They were riding at a quicker pace, which made conversation difficult, but he made note to speak with her about it when they stopped to camp. He chuckled to himself as he recalled the exasperated resignation in Josephine's face when Leliana, Cullen and Evana had all agreed that the speed of horseback was preferable to a carriage. As a peace offering, they had allowed her to engage carriages to take them from their accommodations in Halamshiral to the Winter Palace. He had no doubt their ride to the palace would be in the form of some overly ornate monstrosity.

Throughout the rest of their first day's journey, he occasionally caught Evana's eye to smile at her. The action seemed to calm her, at least for a time. When they finally stopped for the evening, the sun had dropped low in the sky, and the orange-pink streaks of sunset were just beginning to cut through the heavens. It was an odd sight after so many months in the mountains, and Cullen paused while setting up his tent and walked to the edge of the camp to admire the horizon.

"It's particularly beautiful tonight, isn't it?"

Evana's soft voice in his ear drew his attention. He looked down to find her standing beside him and smiled at her ever stealthy movements. She'd turned to watch the horizon, but his gaze was caught by her eyes, bright with an emotion he hadn't seen since their silent walk in the snow at Haven. He recalled how her appreciation for the small moments in life had drawn him to her during those first weeks. He determined he would follow her example and took the opportunity to admire her in all her glory, her silvery hair shining and her full lips glossy in the golden light. He had strong urge to kiss her slowly and try to make her feel even a fraction of what he felt for her now. He knew he couldn't with all the others there, but a part of him still thrilled at the thought that now she would allow... no, she would _welcome_ his attentions. His chest tightened with emotion. He tried to turn away from her, but instead his eyes roved her profile, memorizing every curve and freckle.

"Enjoying the view, Commander?"

Dorian's voice cut through his musings, and he quickly turned his head back to the now setting sun. The mage appeared between them, resting one hand on each of their shoulders. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he reached down and placed Cullen's hand over Evana's.

"There, that ought to make the view more enjoyable. Let's settle in to watch, shall we?"

Dorian stepped back a pace but remained behind them to block the view of anyone who might be looking their direction. Cullen's heart pumped a little faster now, but he didn't drop her hand. On the contrary, he took a tiny side step closer to her and slid his hand farther around her fingers to grip her hand firmly. She tightened her grip as well. He didn't know if she looked at him because he didn't dare turn to look at her again. If he did, he knew he'd kiss her for sure, even with Dorian standing just behind them.

They stood for several minutes in silence before they heard more footsteps behind them. Cullen tensed as Dorian called out a greeting.

"Ahh! Cassandra! Leliana! Josephine! Coming over to enjoy the view as well? Or are you here to scold us for being lazy? Scourge of the earth and all that?"

Cullen felt Evana's hand twitch in his, and he loosened his grip to let her remove her hand if she wished. He was sure the women already knew about their relationship, but he didn't want to make Evana uncomfortable. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, but when Cullen didn't move to release her hand completely, she relaxed and tightened her grip once more. He did the same.

Cassandra came to stand beside Cullen while Leliana and Josephine stood back with Dorian. If any of them noticed the lovers' entwined hands, they didn't mention it.

Cassandra scoffed at Dorian's comment. "We did not come to scold anyone. I happen to enjoy beautiful things, too, you know."

"So do I. Everyone is so peaceful and quiet right now. Sunsets help."

No one had seen Cole join them, but he suddenly appeared beside Evana. Cullen had to fight off a grin as Cole slipped his hand into Evana's free one. The boy was strange, but as the weeks passed, Cullen had found something comforting about him. It wasn't a feeling he wanted to parse any further, however. He'd rather think of the feel of Evana's gloved hand in his and the warmth radiating from it, even through the layers of leather.

The seven of them stood there, watching the sun drop steadily behind the horizon. As the final slice of burning light slipped out of sight, the group gradually dispersed. Cassandra and Josephine left to help arrange the evening meal. Leliana went to check on her agents. Cole wandered off mumbling something about "helping" a soldier. Finally, Dorian patted them both on the shoulders.

"Well, I'd love to stand here silently communing with nature a bit longer, but there's a bottle of wine in my saddlebag calling my name. Don't let anyone see you canoodling out here. It would be scandalous for the Inquisitor to be caught with her pants down."

Evana gasped. "Dorian!"

The mage simply laughed and turned to leave them alone. Cullen glanced over to see that her face was, in fact, just as red as his felt. As Dorian moved away from them, Cullen slowly, regretfully, allowed her fingers to slip out of his. Even in the twilight, he knew they would be seen if he continued to hold her hand.

"I should finish setting up my tent. Would you care to join me?"

Despite her cheeks so recently flushed with embarrassment, she raised an eyebrow and faintly smirked at him. "In your tent? Did Dorian put ideas in your head?"

"W-wha- no!"

Much to his chagrin, Cullen's hand automatically lifted to rub his neck, and he felt the heat suffuse his face yet again. Just when he thought he'd gotten over most of his stuttering foolishness... he vaguely wondered how she would have reacted if he'd said yes. Because in truth, Dorian's words _had_ put ideas in his head - highly inappropriate ideas he quickly pushed aside. She looked at him with a comical mixture of embarrassment, regret and amusement.

"I'm sorry. I think spending so much time with Dorian, Bull and Varric had a bad effect on me."

He laughed awkwardly. "It's alright, Ev- my lady. I was merely wondering..." He cleared his throat as if to clear away the last vestiges of awkwardness. "...if you'd like to speak about whatever has been bothering you all day."

All the emotion drained from her face and was replaced by uncertainty. "What... what do you mean?"

He realized he truly _was_ beginning to understand her - in this case, perhaps better than she understood herself. From their previous conversations, it was clear that she needed to speak her fears to overcome them, and he was happy to support her now as he had done so many times before. If this was all he could truly offer, he would not waver in encouraging her through her doubts and insecurities. The thought briefly crossed his mind that he might be of a similar persuasion - perhaps that was why burying his own feelings had never really worked for him. This wasn't about him, though.

Despite who might be watching, he risked taking a step closer to her and spoke in hushed tones. "You're not the only one who can sense when something is amiss. You've been tense all day. Will you tell me why?"

She blushed again, a becoming pink tinging her face in the fading twilight. She looked away from him.

"I'm just worried about the ball. What if..." She paused, her voice small and fragile. Then, the words she'd been holding inside spilled from her like a dam suddenly bursting under the weight of the water behind it. "What if I can't do this? Even practicing with Leliana and Josephine, I know I'm going to be completely out of my element. I've always disliked large crowds - it makes me nervous just thinking about being among all those people. Then to have to pretend to smile, pretend to be cordial and good-natured, and yet also pretend to be mysterious. All the reactions and turns of phrase feel so foreign to me. I just know I'll mix things up... say the wrong thing to the wrong person. They'll kick us out... Empress Celene will be assassinated..."

"Evana, stop."

Cullen put his hands on her arms and nearly pulled her into him before remembering where they were. Instead of holding her to him, he merely caught her gaze before dropping his hands to his sides again.

"I understand your hesitance and worry, but you can't let this get the best of you. You have been working hard on this, and even if things don't go perfectly, I have no doubt that you _can_ accomplish what we must. You can save Orlais - if that means saving Celene or taking a different route entirely. Whatever your choices, know that we are all here to help you and advise you as best we can. You won't be in this alone."

She gave him a wane smile. "Ma serannas, Cullen. I- I wish you could hold me right now."

Cullen closed his eyes briefly before opening them to smile back. "Maker knows I do, too."

They walked back to the camp and joined the rest of the group for dinner. They all ate quickly and headed to their tents, Evana sharing with Cassandra, Leliana with Josephine and Cullen with Dorian. Cole didn't really need to sleep, but he liked to have a space nonetheless, so Cullen set up a pallet for the boy at the back of his and Dorian's tent.

The next morning, Cullen sent up silent thanks to the Maker that he'd had a relatively dreamless night. In fact, he'd been feeling much better in the last week. He prayed it would last.

They broke camp before dawn, rode hard and camped again that night. The travel had left them all weary, so they ate in relative silence and retired early. The next day, they arrived at Halamshiral as the afternoon sun bathed the city in a hazy golden light. They settled into their accommodations and met briefly in the Inquisitor's room to discuss the next evening's event. Josephine, already in her element, started them off.

"We are invited as Gaspard's guests, so we will be able to arrive a bit earlier than a majority of the other guests. This means we have more opportunity to mingle and gather information. While the talks commence, the Inquisitor will look for clues about the assassin. We'll have to be on guard at all times for anything that seems suspicious."

"Won't _I_ look suspicious if I'm wandering around the party so much?"

Leliana nodded. "Yes, but that's why we will disperse ourselves throughout the ballroom and outer rooms to give you an excuse to come speak with us. That will also give you an opportunity to speak with various dignitaries - and possibly some of the servants, too, if you can get them to speak with you."

Cullen had nothing to add to the conversation, so he remained silent and watched Evana's shoulders gradually, almost imperceptibly, slope downward. The circles under her eyes had faded a bit but not enough for his liking. Cullen resolved to check on her later that evening after he'd taken care of a few last minute tasks for tomorrow.

The meeting ended with Leliana and Josephine coaxing Evana into going out for a bit to tour the city, so Cullen bowed to them all and headed to his room before they could drag him out, too. After a brief meeting with his Lieutenant to review protocol for entering the palace, he shed his armor and pulled out a few reports and requisitions for the Western Approach that he'd been unable to finish before they left. Three hours later, he was interrupted by a knock at his door. At his word, Josephine swept in with a large bag.

"We're back with the uniforms for tomorrow. Please try it on tonight and let me know if you need any last minute alterations before the ball. I've also taken the liberty of providing you with some day clothes. I'm sure you didn't bring anything appropriate for tomorrow, did you?"

Confused, Cullen furrowed his brows and motioned to the neat stack of metal and leather on the armor stand next to him. "I have my armor. That will do until I need to change."

Josephine didn't bother to hold back a sigh. "No, it will _not_ do. I'll repeat what I told Cassandra: We are here for peace talks. You cannot be seen walking around the city in armor all day. Wear the clothes I have provided, please."

"What do you mean 'walking around the city'? I have work I need-"

"Your work will wait. We must be seen before the ball. After the Inquisitor meets with Madame de Fer for a morning brunch, we'll be enjoying some afternoon entertainment, then dinner out, then heading back here to change for the evening. Be ready by 2 o'clock, please."

Cullen swallowed another protest. The look in her eye told him it would be useless anyway. Josephine gave a quick bow and walked to the door but paused before closing it behind her.

"If it helps, the Inquisitor will be there the entire time. The two of you can commiserate on how boring and unnecessary it all is."

"Yes. Fine," he replied, trying to keep the terse note from seeping through. "Thank you, Josephine."

He still wasn't happy to be wasting an afternoon in the Orlesian city, but the prospect of time with Evana was always pleasant. Perhaps they could find a way to enjoy themselves in spite of the pomp and finery.

The nearby chantry bell rang out eight o'clock. If he was going to check on Evana, he should do it now and then let her sleep. Stowing away the papers in a safe place, he exited his room and walked down the hall to her door. Josephine had ensured all their rooms were in the same wing so they could keep a better eye on security. Still, the large building would be difficult to protect. He silently tried Evana's door and was gratified to find it locked. He knocked softly.

After a moment, a muffled voice came from the other side of the door. "Who is it?"

"It's Cullen."

The door opened immediately, and without a word, she grabbed his hand to pull him into her room. Almost before she'd closed the door again, her arms were around his neck, pulling his head down to hers. He gladly accommodated her by bending down to press his lips against hers. The delicate scent of herbs and lilac engulfed him. Lifting a hand to cup her face, he threaded his fingers into her hair and found it slightly damp letting him know she'd likely just bathed. He pushed away the improper thoughts that invaded his mind and focused on the now - the feel of her skin and hair, the way she tasted, the soft sighs as she struggled to pull him closer.

He kept the kiss gentle - he was beginning to see the danger in allowing himself much more than chaste kisses - but more than the feel of her lips against his, he enjoyed simply being able to touch her without fear of someone watching them. He felt the kiss deepening, and they both began to breathe a little heavier. Instead of following his instincts this time, he pulled away just slightly to catch his breath while dropping light kisses on her cheeks, eyelids, nose and jaw.

"Good evening to you, too," he murmured between kisses.

She laughed breathlessly. "Sorry. I've been wanting to do that for two days now."

"I have no complaints." He found her hand and brought it to his lips, then pulled her gently to the plush chairs by her fireplace. "How are you holding up? Did you enjoy your tour today?"

"The city is actually quite beautiful, although I suppose it would be to me considering it was originally built by the elves. Dorian insisted on joining us, which I thought would be a good idea until..." She rolled her eyes a little and smiled. "The three of them have strange ideas of fun. We spent much of our tour just looking at people's clothing. Dorian was properly sarcastic, of course, and Leliana was particularly attentive to the shoes. But it was all lost on me, I'm afraid. I did try, though, for Josie's sake. I even allowed her to buy... a few things for me."

She paused, and he thought he saw a faint blush on her cheeks in the firelight.

"That was good of you. I'm sure it made Josephine's year to be able to buy our practical Dalish Inquisitor a few fine things. What did she get you?"

The blush on Evana's cheeks deepened. "Uh... just a few items of... of clothing. Some sleeveless tunics for training and... and other... things. Oh! And a new outfit for tomorrow - she insisted it wasn't appropriate for me to wear my armor around the city. I think she likely had to say that to a few people in our party."

Cullen was a bit perplexed by her vague answer and apparent embarrassment around the clothes, but he decided not to pursue it further and gave her a sardonic look instead. "Indeed. One does not disobey the ambassador lightly."

"Josephine Montilyet, part-time diplomat, full-time intimidator of inquisitors, warriors and commanders."

She laughed to herself, and Cullen joined in with a small chuckle. She looked down and smiled shyly as her hands played with the ties of her robe. With her sudden greeting, he'd barely had time to register what she was wearing. Now, it occurred to him that she'd just had a bath and was now wearing a robe...

_No._ He couldn't allow his thoughts to roam in that direction. _Eyes up. Ask another question._

"How is it I get this time alone with you? I thought for sure Josephine and Leliana would be pumping you full of last-minute information."

"Oh, they have been, but I finally sent them away about a half an hour ago. There's only so much information my brain can process at once. I'm sure it will begin again tomorrow morning."

"Are you still feeling nervous about tomorrow?"

"A little, but not as much thanks to you. You're very insightful for a rough and tumble military man, you know?"

He laughed awkwardly, lifting his hand to rub his neck. "Not really... but I suppose I can be about some things... or about people. People I... ah... care about."

Since admitting they cared for each other as more than friends, they'd really only spent a handful of days together in the last six weeks. It still felt new and almost forbidden to say such things out loud. He'd thought them in his head for months, of course, but the spoken words felt far more potent, more intimate, than they'd ever felt in his head. Even after the few things he'd already spoken - that he'd wanted to kiss her for months, that he wanted to get their relationship right, that she made him happier than he'd ever been - it was a struggle to remember that he was allowed to be open with her now. At least, open enough to mention some of those little things he found so attractive about her. In truth, however, he was terrified of scaring her away with the strength of his feelings. Knowing her as well as he did, he understood that "love" would not be a word she took lightly.

She leaned forward to face him, propped her elbow on the arm of the chair and placed her chin in her palm. "I'm glad you're here."

"As am I," he said in a quiet voice.

She no longer seemed to have as much trouble as he did saying such things, though her cheeks flushed prettily with every admission. He flinched inwardly at his own ineptitude. He'd returned her sentiment, but she deserved more. He had so much he _wanted_ to say, but fear held him back. She smiled softly and blushed again as she noticed his intent gaze.

"It's nice to see you in a different setting once in awhile. I travel so much - see so many new places I wish I could share with you. I often wonder what you might think of certain landscapes or ruins... though I like coming home to you, too."

Cullen felt his heart skip a beat at her continued frankness. "Oh?"

"Yes, of course. Don't you like it when I come back? Or am I just a distraction from your work?"

She was teasing him. The tone of her voice and sparkle in her eye told him as much. He'd noticed her playful attitude coming out more and more as they spent more time together, but considering his recent thoughts, he wanted to give her more than a teasing or flippant answer in return. He swallowed hard. What should he say? Perhaps the simple truth wouldn't be too much. _Yes. Just tell the truth._

He clenched his jaw tightly and determined he would make the most of their time together... starting right now. Taking a deep breath, he locked his eyes on her and held out his hand.

"Come over here, and I'll tell you."

She seemed mildly surprised, but gave him a shy smile anyway. Getting up from her chair, she walked the short distance between them and placed her hand in his as she stopped in front of him. He sat up, placed his other hand on her hip and felt his breathing deepen in anticipation. He gently tugged her down into his lap, and she fell willingly, her arms circling loosely around his neck. The desire building inside him threatened to take over his brain completely, but he needed to say this before he lost his nerve. He wanted to hide his head but forced himself to look her in the eyes instead. Clear blue with a ring of violet regarded him with such trust, such admiration. After her candid declaration, he could do no less in return.

"When you leave, I feel... it feels like someone has ripped a hole in my chest. So I work. A lot. And after a week or two, the ache begins to feel normal, and I remember that's what I used to feel like all the time. Empty - an emptiness I always tried to fill with work and duty. But when you come back..."

He took a deep, shaky breath and finally looked away from her. The intensity of her gaze, and the way her face had changed as he spoke...

"When you come _home_ , you fill me. I feel whole again."

She didn't respond, so he tentatively glanced back over at her. The look on her face... had he frightened her? They were together now, but he still felt so insecure - as if she could slip through his fingers at any moment.

_Maker, did I ruin it?_ "I'm sorry. Was that...? I didn't mean to put that on you. Please forget-"

She stopped his words with a shake of her head and placed thin fingers over his lips before trading them for a brief, fluttering kiss. "Cullen... Cullen, no. Thank you for sharing that with me. I- I feel the same. When we are separated, my heart hurts. You are so important to me. Being away from you is... is like-"

"Like I'm missing part of myself," he finished in an awed tone.

She nodded as her hand rose to caress his cheek. "Yes," she whispered.

He pulled her into an embrace and let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. _She feels the same. Maker, how..._

He pressed fervent lips against her neck, and the air between them changed instantly. Trailing soft kisses along her jaw wasn't enough. Simply tasting her, touching her, never seemed to be enough. He craved more - wanted her closer. She held his jaw with her small hands, fingers splaying across his cheeks and neck, and guided his lips to hers. Here was the desperation and desire. Here was the need to show her how he felt. Words seemed so inadequate, but as he tasted the sweetness of her mouth, the truth he longed - but also feared - to speak out loud echoed in his head like a mantra.

_I love you. I love you. I love you. Maker, how I love you._

They barely registered the knock and simultaneous sound of a key in the door before it opened and Josephine walked in carrying an empty bag. Evana broke away and struggled to stand. Cullen tried to help her but only ended up entangling their limbs even more.

"Inqui- Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't realize... I can come back later."

There was a sheepish look on her face as the ambassador began backing toward the door, but Evana stopped her. The small sigh passing the elf's lips as she finally managed to stand up was his only indication she was displeased by the interruption.

"No, it's alright. We were just... err... talking. What can I do for you?"

Josephine looked back and forth at them. Cullen felt the heat spread up his neck and onto his cheeks. He stood.

"I'll leave you two to discuss matters."

Josephine dismissed his offer with a wave of her hand. "No, no, Cullen. I simply came to..." Josephine looked behind her and closed the door. "I came to collect Evana's armor for Leliana. They are arranging to smuggle it in tonight with the first round of Leliana's spies. I will be out of your way in no time."

Cullen debated protesting, but a small hand slipped into his and squeezed. The pleading look on Evana's face had him sitting down again as she left his side to collect her armor. She wanted him to stay. That was good enough.

His embarrassment subsided as he watched Evana move gracefully around the room. Her compact body seemed to float over the carpet, the overly large robe that should have looked ridiculous on her small body actually enhancing the ethereal effect.

"Leliana already has my staff, I believe," Evana murmured to Josephine.

Josephine nodded as she folded the boots and light armor into the bag. "Yes, she has it with the other weapons. Once we're in the palace, Leliana's spies will ensure it is available to you when you need it. We'll make sure Dorian, Cole and Cassandra's armor and weapons are also available."

Josephine looked up when she was finished packing the bag and smiled at them. "Well, that's all. Enjoy your evening, you two."

Josephine left the room quickly and locked it behind her. Evana returned to stand in front of him for a moment as if debating her next move. He gently took her hand and tugged at it, smiling softly. She grinned at him and felt back into his lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to get them to Halamshiral, but I got carried away with the slightly sexy fluff in the beginning and then I just couldn't stop. I feel like none of you really mind, though, right?


	40. In which the tide turns but the moon cares not for mortal praise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evana learns some lessons from her time at the Winter Palace (mostly that she'd been right about nobles all along).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a rush through the Winter Palace because, let's face it, we've got better things to do than worry about actual game plot. ;)

She felt a touch disappointed when Cullen pulled her back onto his lap only to lean back in the chair and tuck her head under his chin. She'd hoped they might continue where they left off, but it was probably for the best considering she had nothing on but a robe at the moment. She respected his desire to take things slow, and in fact, the more she'd thought on all the things that could tear them apart, the more she agreed with him on his approach. At least, her head agreed. Her heart was becoming impatient.

She pushed the thoughts away as she relaxed, settled into him and rested her hand on his chest. Without all his armor, she could feel the warmth radiating off him in waves, and she wriggled on his lap to bring herself closer to him. He inhaled sharply as his arm tightened around her and stilled her movements. She could feel little through the thick, fluffy robe, but heat welled up from her chest and into her cheeks as she considered the implications. The thoughts she'd pushed away moments ago returned in full force. She could feel his muscles through the relatively thin fabric where her hand rested. She allowed herself a single caress and felt him shiver under her touch. His hand reached up to envelop hers.

"Will you tell me more about the Dalish?"

She sighed internally, resigned herself to an evening of conversation and lifted her head to look at him. "Of course. I'll tell you whatever you'd like to know. But why?"

Cullen shrugged. "I'd like to know more about you - how you grew up, what it was like, that sort of thing."

Evana felt a twinge of anxiety - _speaking of things that could tear us apart_ \- but nodded and then rested her head against him once more. "Where would you like me to start? I could tell you about our beliefs or our hunting habits or perhaps our social structure?"

A small silence stretched between them as he considered his answer. "Tell me about your parents. How did they meet?"

Her parents? Bad idea.

"Oh, that's not a very interesting story. It's short - what I know of it anyway. I can barely recall the details-"

He laughed. "Sounds like the perfect story."

This was not going well. Not at all.

"Oh, but wouldn't you rather hear something about my childhood? I could tell you quite a few stories about the trouble I got into with Vash'an. He was so patient with me. I was a little... strong willed as a child. Maybe I already told you that, though."

"You did. A little." The humor was gone now, and his voice became soft and tentative. "Evana, is there... is there a reason you don't want to speak of your parents?"

What could she tell him? There was. Of course there was. She only knew what the elders of the clan told her about her father - her mother had never spoken of him, good or bad. The clan members spoke of her father reverently, as was the practice for those who had passed on. And Evana had spent less and less time with her mother after Deshanna took her in. Many of the stories and other small things children might naturally know about their parents were lost to her.

None of that was the real problem, however. It was the before - what her mother did before her parents bonded. She would have to be careful how she phrased things or the story could be problematic. But perhaps she could skim over certain details...

"If it gets boring, please just tell me. I... I don't want you to feel obligated to listen to me ramble."

The humor returned to his voice, and the warm tones hummed through his chest and into her body. "I'm sure it won't be that bad. I want to know more about you, Evana. I wouldn't ask if I weren't truly interested."

She turned and grimaced into his chest. How was she going to do this? The last thing she needed was for him to think he was the sole reason she couldn't... wouldn't go home. They were friends and romantic partners, and he'd indicated he wanted to get things right, so, she knew he wanted some sort of relationship, maybe even a long-term one. Still, she wasn't sure they were ready for this truth. Not yet.

"I should start out with the fact that my mother was a bit unconventional, so her life should not be taken as an example of how the Dalish live. Although, I suppose you could take the reactions of the clan as an example of our customs and expectations." _Ugh. This is such a bad idea._

"Fair enough. I think I'm ready."

"Hmmm... ok. Well..."

She paused to consider. How much could she get away with cutting out? Probably a lot if she just kept it short and simple.

"My mother was the daughter of our former Keeper - Keeper Teirnel was her name - my grandmother. From what I understand, my grandmother had high expectations for my mother. But to my grandmother's disappointment, Mother didn't manifest any magical abilities. So, Mother trained as a hunter instead.

"Our clan has always had semi-regular contact with humans, but only when necessary to obtain objects we couldn't otherwise procure for ourselves. We've silently roamed the plains and forests and mountains of the Free Marches for centuries, hunting and living off the land. At the time, my grandmother had been successful at keeping us away from human influence for many years, but it meant moving around much more than before.

"Eventually, many in the clan appealed to Grandmother for a more permanent existence, or at least one not quite so nomadic. So, we set up a few miles from a human colony. Close enough to trade easily, but far enough away to be largely hidden from detection."

She shifted on Cullen's lap until her head was resting more on his shoulder than on his chest. "I should mention that all of this is, of course, second-hand. I wasn't born, yet. My mother told me stories of her younger days, but rarely did she connect dates or locations with her stories. However, Deshanna began teaching me clan history when I became her Second. That this story happened to relate to me was irrelevant. It's the reason I feel the story is trustworthy."

Cullen nodded. "Makes sense."

"When she'd learned enough to prove herself, my mother was placed in a hunting group. The group spent many hours away from the clan. Some complained that she often went off by herself instead of staying with her group, but because she always came back with food, Grandmother allowed it."

Evana paused again. Could she get away with ending the story here? It was worth a try.

"Hunting is a complex group effort. The hunters learn how to move and act as one unit. Therefore, hunters are often bonded early due to the proximity and intimacy cultivated in a hunting group. Despite her solitary tendencies, my mother was eventually bonded to one of the hunters in her group who had expressed interest in her - my father, Fenevris."

When she didn't continue, Cullen finally spoke again. "You must take after her. You have some fairly 'solitary tendencies' yourself."

She elbowed him lightly. "And you don't?"

"I'm the commander of an army," he said seriously. "I have to be a solitary, brooding kind of man."

She giggled softly through her nose. "Hmmm... if you say so."

There was a small pause. "So that's the story, then?"

"The gist of it, yes."

She felt a little bad about leaving out the details, but there was no reason to bring up the more... painful portions of the story. It would only complicate things, for her as well as for him.

"The 'gist'?"

"Well, there's always more to a story, right? I just told the basics. There were other things going on in the clan at the same time, such as some infighting between those who had asked for a more permanent settlement and those who wished to keep moving around. The clan moved shortly after my parents were bonded."

She held her breath. He remained silent for a moment, but then...

"What makes a clan move?"

She cursed internally. "Any number of reasons - food shortages, lack of resources, hostile groups attacking us - but in this case, I think it was simply the unrest I mentioned."

"But why would they want to move if nothing was threatening them at the time? I don't mean to be critical. I just... don't understand."

"Some disliked... proximity to human settlements," she replied carefully.

"So, many in your clan dislike or distrust humans in general, not just soldiers?"

Evana closed her eyes. He could be far too perceptive sometimes. She'd done her best to be vague, but clearly he wasn't satisfied with vague. Irritation - at her own people and their stubbornness more than anything - colored her words as she spoke.

"The Dalish are reclusive and fanatically protective of Elvhen culture. We don't mind interacting with humans to conduct business, but we are typically never... friendly with them. My own story is often used by my clan as a cautionary tale for getting too involved with shemlens... err... with humans. It's one reason I was so reticent when I first joined you all. My withdrawn personality is natural to me, yes, but I was also taught by both tradition and limited experience that all humans would eventually desert and betray me. I certainly never thought any would ever respect me. Of course, I know now that's not true - not after my time with you all trying to save the world. Most Dalish clans don't have the opportunity to interact with humans like you, though."

She could hear his heart beating faster in her ear, but he didn't speak. She regretted her tone, but at least she hadn't had to say explicitly that her clan would reject her relationship with him. She knew he would need time to process what she'd said... and that he would ask about it again later. She would have to be prepared. Eventually, he would need to know the whole truth.

The silence stretched between them, so she filled it with a request of her own. She made sure her tone was soft and conciliatory.

"What about your parents? How did they meet?" She remembered too late that his parents were gone. In a bit of a panic, she added hastily, "Unless... it's too painful to tell..."

Cullen shifted a little, so she sat up to allow him space. He gave her a sad smile and shook his head. "No, it's fine. It's just... I was so young when I left... I guess I wasn't interested in knowing then. And after I left, I wasn't in touch often enough to... learn the story. I'm sure Mia knows."

Cullen looked a bit chagrinned, so she merely smiled at him and shrugged her shoulders. "It's not a big deal. Just tell me something you do remember about your parents."

There was a long pause, and she settled back down against him. Finally, he started speaking.

"I guess the most memorable story about my parents was when my mother was pregnant with my baby sister, Rosalie. I was too young to really remember when Branson was born, but I remember vividly the joy in the house when mother told us we were going to have a baby brother or sister. I remember father looking happier than I'd ever seen him - I'm sure he looked that way when each of us was born, but at the time, it seemed like he was more excited about the baby than he was with any of us." Cullen laughed a little. "I guess I was a little bit jealous. But this story isn't about me. Well, not really, anyway."

He paused, and she felt his hand gently - almost absently - begin to caress her back. "It was a bad winter that year. We had several snow storms. One evening, our neighbor came knocking on our door to say that his prize druffalo had gotten out in the storm. He was terrified to lose the animal - it provided a large portion of their income in selling off breeding rights. Father immediately put on his coat and started out the door. But before he'd even closed the door behind him, Mother had put on her coat and was walking out the door with him."

"Wait, just how pregnant _was_ your mother by this time?"

Cullen laughed. "Very nearly bursting. Father tried to talk her out of it. He cajoled and blustered and pleaded, but she was adamant. She said she was sure the baby was coming soon, and she would be damned if she were going to let my father get out of delivering the baby."

He tried to look down at her at this point, but only managed to brush his chin across her forehead. She leaned back to meet his gaze.

"I should mention that this was one of the only times I remember my mother cursing. She looked positively fierce. Father took notice of that, I guess, because he let her come along. We children went to stay with our neighbor's wife. When they arrived back home late the next day, Father had our neighbor, his druffalo, my mother and my new baby sister all in tow. Apparently, Rosalie had been born in a field in the shelter of a lost druffalo just that morning."

Evana laughed. "Now I know where your stubbornness comes from."

He gave her a mock offended look. "I am not stubborn."

"Mmmmm-hmmmm. If you say so," she responded with another chuckle. "I bet that isn't a story Rosalie is allowed to ever forget."

His smile faded. "I assume not, though it's been some time since I've seen the family."

Evana quickly moved on to another question to avoid any further awkwardness. "How old were you when this happened?"

"I'm not sure," he replied in a pensive tone. "Let's see... Rosie would be around 23 now, so... Six or seven? Mia would have been around 9. I'm sure she remembers it differently than me."

Evana placed a hand on his cheek. "I think I would have liked your mother very much. It sounds like she was a special person."

He closed his eyes briefly and turned to smile into her palm before kissing it and opening his eyes again. "She would have liked you as well. I'm sure of it."

A strange look passed over his face, a mixture of sadness and tenderness that she'd never seen on him before. When they'd spoken of his family previously, he'd had a bit of a detached tone. Not unemotional, just detached - as if he were speaking of a past long gone. Now, he seemed to be speaking of his family as something very much in the present. Perhaps he was beginning to realize all he'd missed.

Ironic. She had resolved to give up her clan - the only family she'd ever known - while Cullen seemed to be longing to reconnect with the family he'd given up 17 years ago in order to become a templar.

She let her hand fall to his chest and snuggled against him again. They sat that way, in silence, for a few moments before Cullen spoke again.

"It's getting late. I should let you sleep. I'm not sure that we'll be getting any sleep at all tomorrow night."

Evana balled her hand into a fist, grasping his tunic. Then, her hand slid around to his neck, and she sat up to kiss him hard. Before he could fully react, she'd broken the kiss and stood up. She wanted to ask him to stay with her. She wanted him to be _able_ to stay with her. But he couldn't, so it was pointless to say anything.

She smiled down at him and offered him a hand up. He smirked at her, took her proffered hands and stood to wrap her in a firm embrace. They walked to the door silently, and he pressed one last kiss to her forehead before slipping out into the darkened hallway.

 

**

 

Josephine and Leliana woke Evana the next morning to go over final preparations and instructions for the ball. Then, she met with Enchanter Vivienne as previously arranged, and though the woman's attitudes and beliefs about the Circles chaffed at Evana, Madame de Fer's power, the strength of her aura, could not be denied. Reluctantly, Evana accepted her offer to join them and asked that she attend the ball as a member of their entourage. The enchanter agreed while spouting off something condescending, and Evana just barely bit back an acerbic response. She escaped the brunch as soon as possible and headed back to change for her afternoon out with the advisors.

As much as she had been looking forward to spending time in the city with Cullen, the reality was far less pleasing. They had been able to sit next to each other during the afternoon entertainment, but after one instance of snickering a little too loudly at the ridiculously dressed singer, Josie had politely but firmly told them she would separate them if it happened again. And, like chastised children, they had been overly cautious for the remainder of the afternoon. Dinner was no better, and Evana found herself now back in her room in a red and gold uniform jacket adjusting the blue sash across her chest and taking note of how Josephine had arranged her hair.

She hadn't cut it since arriving in Haven, and the gradual growth had snuck up on her. It had been twenty years since she'd experienced the sheer mass and volume of her own hair. She'd hated it as a child. No braid could ever really contain the thick, wavy and somewhat frizzy mess, and she had begun cropping it short at the ripe age of seven after leaning a little too far over the forge. That was really just an excuse, though. Maybe she could even admit now that she'd done it on purpose so her mother _would_ cut it.

Josie had used some sort of hair tonic and a hot iron to curl the strands into smooth, chunky masses. They fell around her face, and even the tips of her small ears were invisible underneath the short, voluminous waves. She found she rather liked the effect and briefly wondered if her hair was long enough to fit into a braid. Leliana had fretted over covering her ears - she didn't want it to seem like they were trying to hide the fact that she was an elf. Evana had merely laughed and pointed to the deep purple tattoos covering her face. _No one would mistake this face as anything but Dalish._

Makeup was also a new experience for her, and not necessarily a bad one, though she still preferred her natural face to the feeling of something foreign spread over her skin. And her vallaslin made eye makeup unnecessary anyway. She'd confessed to Leliana her wish to be herself instead of working to impress people who didn't really care about her except as a novelty. With this in mind, Leliana had applied face makeup for a subtle, more natural effect. The shimmering powder covering her face dimmed her ink a bit, but the overall effect was ethereal. In short, even with the minimal changes, Evana hardly recognized herself.

A knock on the door told her it was time. She took one last look at her reflection and then somewhat reluctantly grabbed the small pouch of makeup Leliana had left with her. She might need it to reapply if things turned ugly - which was likely. She opened the door to find a large, handsome man in red and gold waiting for her in the corridor.

"Oh! Cullen. I didn't think... I thought you were Josie."

He raised a sardonic brow but then smiled. "She requested I come up and get you. To my chagrin, she also warned that I'm not allowed to kiss you. Now I know why. You look absolutely lovely, Evana."

He raised the back of her hand to his lips, and she tittered like a young girl. She cringed inwardly at the juvenile display, but Cullen didn't seem to mind. They began walking toward the stairs.

"Did you practice that speech?" she asked nonchalantly, her eyes darting to his face to see his reaction.

Cullen blushed hotly. "What makes you ask that?"

"Because you didn't blush or stutter once, even when mentioning kissing. Either my charms are losing their edge with you... or you practiced."

He only paused a moment to give her a somewhat pained expression before admitting, "Your charms are just as strong as ever. I did practice on the way up here."

"Ah. Well, I did not practice anything as I didn't expect to see you alone, but now that I have the opportunity, I will say that you look quite handsome this evening. I think you might have some trouble keeping the Orlesians at bay. Are you ready for battle, Commander?"

She watched his brow furrow. "I'm always on the ready, my lady."

"Hmmmm... I'm afraid you might not be ready for this battle," she grumbled.

His brow furrowed deeper. "I don't think I quite understand what you're saying."  
  
She stopped him with a hand on his arm as they reached the top of the stairs. "Cullen, I have to tell you because I feel like you might not actually know... you are a ridiculously attractive man. And you now hold a very powerful position in an increasingly powerful organization. As far as anyone knows, you are single - not that it would matter to the Orlesians if you weren't. You will be courted tonight... possibly quite heavily. I just want you to be prepared."

She watched as he processed her words, a look of concern growing on his face. "I... I had not thought..."  
  
"I hadn't either until Josie and Leliana brought it to my attention as they helped me dress. I think they wanted to prepare me so I wouldn't immolate everyone who propositions you."

Cullen let out a long sigh. "I wish you could."

She gave him an encouraging smile and turned to continue down the stairs. "Come. It's only one night. If I can spend the night sucking up to a bunch of fat heads, you can spend an evening fending off indecent proposals."

"Sounds lovely," he said dryly. "When do we get back to Skyhold again?"

She laughed. "As soon as the Orlesian throne is safely in the hands of... whomever turns out to be the least culpable in this mess. And as soon as we have an alliance with their military."

"That will be a boon indeed. An alliance with Orlais would more than double our numbers."

"And would allow us to safely send our army into the Western Approach to deal with the Grey Wardens."

There was a pause in the conversation, and Cullen finally cleared his throat. "So... you... uh... you think I'm attractive?"

Evana laughed at his obliviousness. "No. I _know_ you are attractive. It's an objective fact. I just happen to be the lucky woman who gets to ogle you any time I like."

Cullen's expression reflected an endearing mixture of pleased and embarrassed. In spite of her instructions from the other advisors, she pulled his face down to hers and brushed a kiss across his lips. He tinged pink and seemed a bit speechless for the rest of the short walk down the stairs. They reached the bottom and were joined by the others. Dorian was the first to speak.

"Well, don't we all look lovely. At least the red will hide the blood spatters... and possibly the spilt wine. Evana, darling, shall we play a drinking game with muttered insults about our respective origins? Who will be more hated - the elf or the 'Vint?"

Josie just sighed. Evana snickered behind her hand. Cullen seemed less amused and gave her a worried look. She met his gaze and shook her head as if to say "don't worry about it." She and Dorian were both accustomed to the prejudices against them. It wasn't right, but neither of them had any other choice. Leliana finally ushered them all out the door.

"We're all here now, so let's not keep Gaspard waiting. We are his guests, after all."

They all filed into the properly ornate carriages Josie had procured for them. Cullen sat next to her and placed his pinkie over hers as their hands rested side-by-side on carriage seat. They looked out their respective windows and ignored the significant looks from Leliana and the knowing smile from Josephine.

When they arrived, Gaspard met them in the courtyard. She spoke with him and found him to be everything she'd anticipated. He minced no words - his ultimate goal was to take the throne from his cousin Celene. His self-confidence alone impressed her, but it also left her with a bad taste in her mouth. _Too cocky for his own good._ She needed to speak with Celene.

After picking up on a few secrets and garnering a bit of approval from a noblewoman for finding her lost ring, Evana headed inside.

She spent the first part of the evening simply getting her bearings. As expected, her introduction to the court included many snide remarks on the way about being an elf, a savage, a slave. Inside the walls of Skyhold, she'd rarely been exposed to such language and had almost forgotten how the rest of Thedas truly viewed the People. Here, however, she was just another knife-eared rabbit. Despite the rude comments from the court, the Empress Celene was all graciousness - at least in public.

Then Celene introduced her cousin, the Grand Duchess Florianne, and Evana felt her gut clench. Even with the distractions of a room full of secretive people all vying to win the Game, Evana could still recognize the murderous glint in the Duchess' eyes. Evana had learned long ago to trust her instincts, and her gut told her this woman was rotten. She'd have to keep a careful eye on the Duchess this evening.

After her introduction, she made the rounds and eavesdropped as much as possible - her stealth and lightness of foot gave her a clear advantage here. Speaking with the nobles was more difficult. Sometimes she said the right things and made alliances. Other times, she soured the conversation with some horrible misstep. She clenched her jaw in frustration time and again - were these people really worth saving? She grumbled under her breath and ached for something to immolate - to do something she was actually good at.

By the time she finally took the chance to explore the upper rooms, her head swam with secrets and intrigues. Skimming through the rooms as quickly as possible, she hunted down several more secret papers. Apparently, servants were disappearing and the serving elves were terrified. The door to the servants' quarters was locked - she'd already tried to enter early in the evening - but before she could search the darkened rooms further for a key, the bell rang to indicate the beginning of the grand ball. She would be expected to make an appearance.

Pocketing the papers she'd picked up so far, she ran down to the vestibule only to be stopped by a rather frightening looking woman in an Orlesian dress. The woman wasn't wearing a mask, however, and Evana was struck by her golden, cat-like eyes.

"Well, well, what have we here?" she said in a mocking tone. "The leader of the new Inquisition. The fabled Herald of the faith. Delivered from the grasp of the Fade by the hand of the Blessed Andraste herself. What could bring such an exalted creature here to the Imperial Court, I wonder? Do even you know?"

Evana was unsure of the woman's intentions and even less enthused by the woman's sarcastic tone. She decided to keep her guard up.

"We may never know. Courtly intrigues and all that."

"Such intrigues obscure much. But not all. I am Morrigan. Some call me advisor to Empress Celene on matters of the arcane."

So this was Empress Celene's mage advisor. Leliana had warned Evana earlier in the night about how dangerous this woman could be. She was glad she had decided to be cautious.

"You... have been very busy this evening," Morrigan continued, "hunting in every dark corner of the palace. Perhaps you and I hunt the same prey?"

The woman's forwardness surprised Evana. Clearly, Morrigan had been watching her tonight. Perhaps a little vague truthfulness was in order?

"I hope so. I could use another ally here."

"A sentiment I share considering... recent events."  
  
"Recent events?"  


Morrigan had stopped at the bottom of the stairs to speak, but now she began walking. Evana fell in step beside her. Morrigan's voice lowered to a soft hum in Evana's ear.

"I found - and killed - an unwelcome guest within these very halls. An agent of Tevinter. So I offer you this, Inquisitor. A key found on the Tevinter's body. Where it leads I cannot say. Yet, if Celene is in danger, I cannot leave her side long enough to search. You can."

Morrigan handed a key over, and Evana quickly pocketed it. There were few people around, but who knew what eyes were watching, what ears were listening? _Great, I'm becoming absolutely paranoid._ And yet she couldn't help remaining suspicious about the mage's motivations.

"What's your interest in protecting Empress Celene. Are you her bodyguard?"

Morrigan laughed. "Do I seem a bodyguard to you?" Her face turned serious. "If anything were to happen to Celene, eyes would turn first to her 'occult advisor.' Even if they knew otherwise. There are sharks in the water, and I will _not_ fall prey to them. Not now. Not ever."

Evana sighed. Morrigan was right. The mage had a vested interest in keeping Celene alive. Neither Gaspard nor Briala would care about Morrigan and were just as likely to kill her as not if Celene were to fall from power.  
  
"I wish you hadn't killed the Tevinter agent. He might have had useful information."

"I certainly would not have slain the man on sight had he not attacked me first. I undoubtedly caught him in an illicit act. I did not know from whence he came until after the battle, and regret only that I could not capture him alive. What intentions the Imperium has here I suspect you know far better than I."

"Hmmm, yes..." Evana fidgeted with the key in her pocket. "Briala's people are whispering about disappearances in the servant's quarters. This key may lead there."

"The ambassador does have eyes and ears everywhere, does she not? Proceed with caution Inquisitor. Enemies abound, and not all of them are aligned with Tevinter. What comes next will be most exciting."

Evana had to disagree, but she kept her thoughts to herself. Morrigan left her, and unable to resist the urge, Evana immediately went to test the key. Slipping down the stairs to the door, she heard a satisfying click as the key turned in the lock and watched the door fall open. Quickly locking it again, she went to find Cole, Cassandra and Dorian. Each had taken up a station in a different part of the palace to keep an eye out for anything suspicious. She had yet to speak with them, but she suspected none of them had seen anything. The Orlesians were nothing if not good at saving face and hiding their transgressions.

After directing her team to meet her in the servants' quarters in twenty minutes, Evana went to find Leliana. She was in the ballroom, clearly enjoying watching the people around her. When Evana approached, however, her face turned serious. Evana didn't mince her words.

"I think things are about to get ugly. Where can we find our armor?"

Leliana pursed her lips. "What do we know?"

She related Morrigan's story and then shook her head in frustration. "I think there are likely multiple agents at play here. I don't know who the assassin is, yet, but my gut says it's not Gaspard... Briala seems a more likely choice. And Florianne... she is the one who arranged this entire ball. Perhaps she arranged it so she could kill her cousin? I don't know... but the key Morrigan found on the Tevinter agent leads to the servants' quarters and people are reportedly dying down there. I'd rather not go in without my armor and staff."

Leliana nodded. "If you will go down and unlock the door, I will have my spies transfer the armor and weapons to the servant's quarters. It may take a few moments, but they are at the ready, so it shouldn't be long. Oh, and Inquisitor, on a lighter note - you might take pity on the Commander if you have an opportunity tonight. I'm sure he could use a reprieve from the gaggle of admirers surrounding him."

Evana glanced across the ballroom to find that, as expected, Cullen was surrounded. Poor man. She made note to speak with him after she finished with whatever awaited her in the servant's quarters.

She hurried out of the ballroom and down the stairs, unlocked the door and found a comfortable hiding spot inside to wait. Leliana's agents arrived less than ten minutes later dressed in servant garb and carrying large bags of what looked like flour and other food supplies. They silently placed the bags in the corner and left. Evana left her hiding spot and began rummaging for her things. Dorian arrived just as she was buttoning up her armored coat and Cassandra and Cole were not long after. She unwrapped their weapons, and once everyone changed, they hid their uniforms in the bags and headed out.

It was as she feared. They found the Council of Heralds' emissary dead in the courtyard and Ventori agents all over the place. They fought their way through the halls and corridors - so many agents, so little understanding of what was actually happening. Finally, as they chased what seemed to be the final agent through the hall, Evana watched as a dagger coming from the opposite direction plunged into the agent's eye. She kept her hand on her staff and mana at the ready as the masked woman approached her. The air shimmered with the heaviness of her magic and even Dorian let out a little huff.

"Not so oppressive, if you please," he muttered. "My hair is standing on end. I'll never get it back into place at this rate."

Briala walked up, pulled the dagger from the man's face, and twirled it in her hand as she came to stand in front of Evana. "Fancy meeting you here. Inquisitor Lavellan, slumming in the servants' quarters with the rest of your people for once. We haven't been properly introduced, have we? I'm ambassador Briala."

Evana had suspected as much - it was the pointed ears that gave her away, of course. Briala was an elf, and no other elf here besides herself would be dressed as prettily as the ambassador.

"That was an impressive shot, 'ambassador.'"

"Welcome to the Imperial Court, friend! This is our diplomacy at work." Briala turned and walked out to the balcony. "You cleaned this place out. It will take a month to get all the Tevinter blood off the marble. I came down to save or avenge my missing people, but you've beaten me to it. So, the Council of Heralds' emissary in the courtyard... that's not your work, is it?"

"Gaspard killed him, I think. The knife in his chest has a Chalons crest on the hilt." _Unless it was a set up to frame Gaspard. Better to play this one out with Briala before revealing all my cards._

"I knew it! I knew he was smuggling in chevaliers, but killing a council emissary? Bringing Tevinter assassins into the palace? Those are desperate acts. Gaspard must be planning to strike tonight."

She was more than happy to let Gaspard take the blame, apparently. "Are you sure he's behind this? He was too... easygoing for a man plotting treason."

"Don't let his charm blind you. He's Orlesian. That smile is his mask. I misjudged you, Inquisitor. You might just be an ally worth having. What could you do with an army of elven spies at your disposal? You should think about it."

"You know how to make a sales pitch ambassador. I'll give you that."

Briala smiled, and Evana could almost imagine a quirked eyebrow behind the fancy Orlesian mask. "I do, don't I? I know which way the wind is blowing. I'd bet coin that you'll be part of the peace talks before the night is over. And if you happen to lean a little bit our way, it could prove advantageous... to both of us. Just a thought."

With that, Briala jumped off the balcony to the roof below and fluttered out of sight. Cassandra approached and spoke what Evana herself was feeling.

"More politics and double dealing! Is there anyone here who is not corrupt?"

"You?" Evana replied with a faltering smile.

By the time they headed back to change into their uniforms, Evana was just about done in... and yet there was so much more to do. As she made her way back to the ballroom, she had the opportunity to send a couple of men eager to hear about their battle at Haven to Cullen. Hopefully that would offer him a bit of a reprieve. It also offered her an opportunity to search the rooms they had been guarding.

When she returned to the ballroom, she was immediately accosted by the Grand Duchess. Evana's stomach twisted and turned with apprehension and distrust. Oh, yes, this woman was up to no good.

"Inquisitor Lavellan? We met briefly. I am Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalon. Welcome to my party."

In spite of her misgivings, Evana played the part. "Is there something I can do for you, Your Grace?"

"Indeed you can. I believe tonight you and I are both concerned by the actions of... a certain person. Come. Dance with me. Spies will not hear us on the dance floor."

What was this woman playing at? Did she mean to implicate her own brother? Well, if the Duchess meant to dance, Evana would dance. After all, Dorian would be upset if all his lessons went to waste.

"Very well. Shall we dance, Your Grace?"

Florianne was already walking down the steps to the ballroom floor. "I'd be delighted."

As they set up for the dance, the Duchess launched her first question. "Have the Dalish gained a sudden passion for politics? What do you know about our civil war?"

"I assure you, the effect of this war reaches far beyond the borders of the Orlesian Empire."

"Perhaps it does. I should not be surprised to find the Empire is the center of everyone's world. It took great effort to arrange tonight's negotiations. Yet one party would use this occasion for blackest treason. The security of the empire is at stake. Neither one of us wishes to see it fall."

Now was the time for boldness. The Duchess' words were all propriety, but Evana couldn't ignore her gut feeling. "Do we both want that, Lady Florianne?"

"I hope we are of one mind on this."

"In times like these, it's hard to tell friend from foe, is it not, Your Grace?"

Finally Florianne seemed to relent and speak to the point. "I know you arrived here as the guest of my brother, Gaspard, and have been everywhere in the palace... You are a curiosity to many, Inquisitor... and a matter of concern to some."

"Am I the curiosity or the concern to you, Your Grace?"

"A little of both, actually. This evening is of great importance, Inquisitor. I wonder what role you will play in it. Do you even yet know who is friend and who is foe? Who in the court can be trusted?"

"If I've learned anything, Your Grace, it is to put my trust in no one." _No one from Orlais, anyway._

They were silent for a moment, and Evana concentrated on the dance. After months of practice, the steps were familiar now. However, the Grand Duchess insisted on leading, so Evana merely focused on being as graceful as possible. She knew it was her best feature when it came to this part of the Game. Finally, the Duchess spoke again.

"In the Winter Palace, everyone is alone. It cannot have escaped your notice that certain parties are engaged in dangerous machinations tonight."

"I thought 'dangerous machinations' were the national sport in Orlais."

Evana noticed the floor had cleared to allow them room to dance and decided to be bold. In one twirl, Evana took over leading and dipped Florianne gracefully to end the dance. An appreciative gasp and then applause arose from the gathered crowd.

"You have little time. The attack will come soon. You must stop Gaspard before he strikes. In the Royal Wing Garden, you will find the captain of my brother's mercenaries. He knows all Gaspard's secrets. I'm sure you can persuade him to be forthcoming."  
  
Gut still clenching, Evana bowed to the Grand Duchess to end the dance and threw back over her shoulder as she walked away, "We'll see what the night has in store, won't we?"

As she emerged at the top of the stairs, she was greeting by Josephine and, soon after, Leliana and Cullen. The latter's voice was full of concern as he spoke.

"What happened in the servants' quarters? I heard there was fighting."

She smiled at his concern, but Josephine spoke before Evana could answer him. "I hope you have good news. It appears peace talks are crumbling."

"The Grand Duchess tried to convince me that Gaspard is the traitor, but I don't buy it. Gaspard is scheming, that is certain, but treason? Why go to the trouble of being forthright with a civil war only to turn to subterfuge now?"

Leliana was unconvinced. "Florianne and her brother are thick as thieves, but she would give him up in an instant to save herself."

What followed was an unhelpful descension into bickering about who should be on the Orlesian throne. She knew they only wanted to help her, but with each curt word or dismissive gesture, the world around her seemed to shrink, the pressure suffocating her and creating fissures in her faux calm exterior. How could she decide? She didn't have enough information. And who was she, a Dalish from the Free Marches, to decide anyway?

"You're asking me to decide what's best for Orlais?" she bit out.

Cullen looked at her, understanding in his eyes, but his words only served to reaffirm her doubts. "More than that, whoever controls the Imperial throne will affect all of Thedas."

And in the end, that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? Who would be best for Thedas now _and_ in the future. Josephine was for Celene, Cullen for Gaspard and somewhat surprisingly, Leliana suggested Briala. Evana had to admit that the other elf was a tempting choice. Tonight's derogatory words and backhanded remarks from the nobles had reminded her forcefully that she was viewed as coming from a lesser race. Briala might be able to bring their people a modicum of respect and authority in a world that viewed them as simple slaves and servants.

Finally, she shook her head. "I can't decide this now. I need more information. Florianne said I would find Gaspard's men in the Royal wing, so get me access and get our armor and weapons there as soon as possible. I'll see what else I can find."

She turned to Cullen. "And in the meantime, get our troops in place. Whatever is going to happen, it will happen soon."

Cullen bowed. "At once." As the others turned away, he gave her a small smile. "And please be careful, Inquisitor."

She smiled back at him and then went to tell her companions the plan. She also stopped to speak with the Empress' ladies in waiting and a few other nobles. By the time she made her way down the ballroom again, she saw Cullen across the way, once again surrounded by fawning nobles. Perhaps she could give him a brief reprieve. He saw her coming and started toward her.

"E- Inquisitor, did you need something?"

"I've been talking with some of the nobles. It seems everyone has an opinion on the night's proceedings, but no one has anything truly helpful to say." She sighed. "But really, I thought I'd come over and steal you from your entourage for a few moments. You've attracted quite the following. Who are all these people?"

An edge of frustration slipped into his words. "I don't know, but they won't leave me alone."

"As I suspected," she replied with a mischievous look. "Not enjoying the attention, then?"

He tried to smile, but failed miserably. "Hardly. Anyway, yours..." He stopped suddenly, clearing his throat and looking around him quickly. When he spoke again, he kept his voice low and soft. "... yours is the only attention worth having."

A blush crept up her cheeks at his words. Perhaps she could pull him away from his adoring crowds...

"I don't suppose you'd save a dance for me?"

"No. Thank you."

The response took her by surprise, though she wasn't sure why. After all, Cullen had expressed his distaste for dancing more than once during the lead up to Halamshiral. It had been silly and impulsive to ask in the first place - perhaps a lingering bravado from her win on the dance floor with Florianne.

All she could manage in return was a small, "Oh."

His response was swift and not a little bit terrified. "No! I didn't mean to... Maker's breath! I've answered that question so many times, I'm rejecting it automatically. I'm not one for dancing. The templars never attended balls."

By the time he finished speaking, she'd regained her composure. "It's alright, Cu- Commander. I'm not upset. A little disappointed perhaps. But don't worry..." Mimicking his earlier actions, she lowered her voice so only he could hear her. "...I'll make you pay for it in kisses later."

Cullen smirked and let out a small breath. He seemed like he might reply, but just then, Leliana caught Evana's eye. With a tiny tilt of her head, the spymaster motioned her to the vestibule.

"It's time. Be ready. I have a feeling this won't take long."

He bowed. "I await your signal."

She was right. It didn't take long. After wandering around the Royal Wing and discovering an interesting and likely useful connection between Briala and Celene in the Empress' secret vault, Evana felt her mark burst to life as they approached an inner courtyard. There was a rift here?

Opening the doors, they found themselves surrounded by archers... and demons. There was, in fact, a rift here. And when Florianne marched out onto the balcony above and revealed her connection to Corypheus - her delusions of the darkspawn magister making her some kind of ruler over all of Thedas - Evana wished she could be surprised. Instead, she only hoped she could fight through all the archers and demons in time get back to the ballroom before Florianne assassinated her own cousin.

With both herself and Dorian in the group, they had barriers up before the archers could even think about releasing their arrows. In another instant, Cole disappeared into stealth while the rest of them jumped into the fray. Cole expertly picked off the archers one-by-one, and soon, they'd cleared the courtyard. When the enemies were finally defeated, she closed the rift and then freed a man who once and for all confirmed Gaspard's treason. The man affirmed he had been hired to help the Duke start a coup.

Armed with this knowledge, Evana ran out of the royal wing, through the vestibule and past the scandalized whispers of the court nobles. There was no time now to change back into the uniform. She was covered in sweat and ichor and her armor covered in blood, but she hardly cared. Not for their opinions. Not anymore. Cullen met her halfway to the front of the room, where Celene was preparing to address the court. The look of relief on his face was soon replaced by concern as he took in her appearance.

"Thank the Maker you're back. The Empress will begin her speech soon. What did you find out?"

The adrenaline pumped through her veins. She had to stop this.

"It was Florianne all along. I knew it! Just wait here. I'm going to have a _word_ with the Grand Duchess."

"But there's no time! The Empress will begin her speech any moment-"

"Which is why I need to go now. Trust me, Cullen."

She left him and took the stairs down to the dance floor. Those who had not yet seen her gasped in astonishment, and a loud murmur went through the court. She began walking slowly up the stairs to the mezzanine floor where Florianne stood with Gaspard and Briala.

"We owe the court one more show, don't you think, Your Grace?"

The murmurs grew louder. Florianne turned slowly, and despite her mask, Evana saw the fear in the Grand Duchess' eyes. Evana meandered toward her quarry, a studied carelessness in her posture. They wanted a game? She'd play their game, alright.

"The eyes of every noble in the court are upon are upon us, Your Grace. Remember to smile. This is your party. You wouldn't want them to think you had lost control."

As Evana slowly climbed the stairs, Florianne began backing away. "Who would not be delighted to speak with you, Inquisitor?"

"Really? I seem to recall you saying..." Evana raised her voice. She typically only used her strong voice during battle, but Evana now understood what she never had through all her lessons with Leliana and Josephine. This _was_ a battle. "'All I need is to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike.' And when your archers failed to kill me in the garden..." A shocked gasp went up from the crowd. "I feared you wouldn't save me this last dance. It's so easy to lose your good graces. You even framed your brother for the murder of a council emissary." Evana's voice, clear and strong, echoed throughout the now silent ballroom. "It was an ambitious plan. Celene, Gaspard, the entire Council of Heralds... all your enemies under one roof."

Florianne looked perfectly wild in the eyes. "This is very entertaining. But you do not imagine anyone _believes_ your wild stories?"

Celene, who had been listening from the balcony above the mezzanine, chimed in. "That would be a matter for a judge to decide, cousin."

Florianne gasped and turned toward her brother, who had steadily backed away from his sister as Evana spoke. "Gaspard? You cannot believe this! You know I would never... Gaspard?"

But the Duke, along with Briala, were already turning away from her without a word. Evana watched as guards cornered Florianne.

"You lost this fight ages ago, Your Grace. You're just the last to find out."

With that, Evana turned away from the Grand Duchess as if the other woman no longer existed. The threat had been mitigated. Celene would live... but the throne was far from secure. She looked up at where the Empress stood above her.

"Your Imperial Majesty, I think we should speak in private. Elsewhere."

The Empress nodded, and a strange calm flowed through Evana as she approached and bowed to Celene. Gaspard and Briala joined them, and they made for the nearby balcony while Evana catalogued her successes. She'd collected numerous secrets for Leliana, beaten Florianne at her own game and ultimately foiled Corypheus' plans. She'd won the night in spite of the court's animosity and thinly veiled contempt, and a vicious sort of pride welled up inside her at the thought of the praise now dripping from lips that had not long ago whispered hateful slurs to her from behind cowardly masks.

Then and there, Evana vowed that she would never again allow herself to be cowed by these people and their frivolous games. Tonight, she would decide the future of these shallow, ridiculous people while laughing at their obsequiousness. Tonight, she would play them like a finely tuned violin. Tonight, an elf - a knife-ear - would rule Orlais with an iron fist, and they would do her bidding... or suffer the consequences.


	41. In which outcasts gotta stick together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian eavesdrops on a few conversations - without shame, of course.

The reveal of Grand Duchess Florianne's murderous intent had been nothing compared to the astonished whispers at the emergence of the Empress, the Inquisitor _and_ the elven ambassador, Briala, from the tete-a-tete between the powers. Duke Gaspard had been exiled for treason based on all the incriminating evidence they'd found skulking through the Winter Palace, but despite all the things they'd discovered about the ambassador, Briala was now at the Empress' side.

Dorian snickered behind his glass of wine. The Inquisitor was playing matchmaker, eh? During their exploration of the Royal Wing, they'd found Briala's locket among Celene's personal effects, and Evana must have used that information to bring the two women back together. She’d placed Celene safely in power, but with Briala as Marquise of the Dales, the elves would also have a chance at raising themselves to a more equal status. He had to hand it to the Inquisitor. She might hate the Game, but she seemed to play quite well.

Grabbing another bottle of a fine vintage, Dorian found a dark, secluded corner of a balcony and made himself comfortable. Compared to a Tevinter party, the night had only just begun, but Dorian had already tired of the unending parade of snide remarks and gallingly rude questions. And with the revelation of Florianne's Tevinter agents murdering people in the palace, his reception had gone from mildly chilly to downright frigid. It seemed better to beat a hasty retreat… with a glass and some fine wine, of course.

Leaning against the cool stone wall, he sipped his wine under the comforting shroud of darkness and stared into the night sky. He allowed his thoughts to wander as the wine warmed his limbs and the merry lights across the palace took on a pleasant haze of intoxication.

The scuffle of dragging feet drew his attention, and he turned to watch the Inquisitor walk slowly across the balcony to lean heavily on the railing. He made to emerge from the shadows when he saw Morrigan had wandered out onto the balcony as well. If he'd cared about propriety and social convention, he might have revealed himself, but as it was... well, he'd rather hear what the mage had to say. He'd let Evana know he'd overheard later.

"The Orlesian nobility make drunken toasts to your victory, and yet you are not present to hear them? Do you tire so quickly of their congratulations, Inquisitor? 'Tis most fickle, after all your efforts on their behalf."

"I would have stayed,” Evana deadpanned, “but the punch ran dry. Scandalous."

Dorian nearly spit wine in astonishment even as his chest swelled with pride. She never would've said that sort of thing out loud before he and Varric got a hold of her.

But Morrigan was speaking again. Dorian strained to hear their soft voices above the music floating out of the ballroom.

"Indeed? Let us see if you take this piece of news as poorly. By Imperial decree, I have been named liaison to the Inquisition. Celene wishes to offer you any and all aid - including mine. Congratulations."

Evana did not answer immediately, and Dorian rearranged himself to get a better view of the two mages. Finally, the weary elf leaned her hip against the banister and cross her arms - her defensive posture.

"I had no idea you were interested in joining the Inquisition."

Morrigan shrugged. "The assignment has been given to me, regardless of my personal interest. Celene knows you face an opponent who wields great magical power, which is far more important than her own curiosity. You will require my knowledge if you are to defeat such magic. Corypheus is a threat to Orlais... and to myself. Thus, I am not opposed to the appointment."

Evana's stance relaxed a bit, but she still exuded wariness. "You mentioned knowledge. What skills do you have that would benefit the Inquisition?"

"I have knowledge which falls... beyond the realm of most mages. I suspect this is also true of Corypheus. Thus it behooves you to add to your arcane arsenal, yes? Mundane knowledge will not bring the rift in the sky to close, after all."

Evana tensed. And Dorian understood why. The Inquisitor's tone took on an acerbic edge.

"So, when you say 'knowledge beyond the realm of most mages,' do you mean blood magic?"

Clearly Evana had tired of the game. She was back to her lovely self - with a large dose of new-found confidence, it seemed. The tentative, withdrawn elf he'd first met in Redcliffe had been replaced by a cool, confident leader. He couldn't be more proud. Morrigan, unaware of the transformation, took it all in stride.

"I know many obscure, forgotten, and forbidden arts. Some of it you might consider blood magic, yes. Should thought of that frighten you, allow me to offer reassurance. Knowledge alone does no harm. What I possess, I place at your disposal to make use of or ignore as you desire."

Evana relaxed once more, this time allowing her arms to drop. "You did help me earlier. I'm sorry if I seem suspicious. This place is enough to make anyone paranoid... Welcome to the Inquisition, Morrigan."

"A most gracious response," Morrigan responded with a tilt of her head. "I shall meet you at Skyhold."

Dorian shrunk back behind a pillar by the doorway as Morrigan passed through. When he relaxed once more, he found Evana leaning on the balcony railing, both hands placed flat on the wide stone. The weight of the evening, indeed of the last few months, seemed to press upon her in this unguarded moment. Her head drooped and shoulders slumped, and Dorian's heart went out to her. As different as they were - and as much as he would never dream of saying it aloud - her consistent and solid support had meant the world to him in Redcliffe. He owed her at least an attempt to cheer her up.

Dorian quietly collected his wine bottle and prepared to step out of the shadows once again but stopped when he saw that the Commander had beaten him to it. Well, that settled things. He certainly wasn't leaving now. Not when it would be much more fun to eavesdrop on the awkwardly adorable lovers. Cullen would make her feel better, and Dorian would get a little entertainment for his troubles tonight. Win, win.

"There you are. Everyone's been looking for you. Things have calmed down for the moment..."

Cullen approached the railing and stood next to her. At his words, she leaned down further so her elbows rested on the wide stone, hands hanging listlessly off the edge. Cullen did the same.

"Are you alright?" he asked in a low, concerned tone.

_So adorable, I think I might be sick._

"I'm just worn out," she sighed. "Tonight has been... very long."

Although they faced away from him, Dorian could imagine the rueful half smile on Cullen's face as he responded. "For all of us. I'm glad it's over."

Cullen paused, but only for a moment. Lifting his hand to rest lightly her shoulder, he lowered his voice, and Dorian had to strain to hear him speak.

"I know it's foolish - you are more than capable of taking care of yourself - but I was worried for you tonight."

She lifted her hand to cover his for just a moment before letting her hand drop. Cullen backed away from the railing. For a split second, Dorian thought he might have to intervene. What was the lummox doing, leaving so soon? She clearly wasn't feeling... _oh..._

"I may never have another chance like this, so... I must ask." Cullen stepped back and bowed before Evana, extending his hand. "May I have this dance, my lady?"

_A-dor-a-ble!_

The smile that spread across the pretty elf's face nearly caused Dorian to laugh out loud. This was simply too much. Her voice epitomized that of a pleased lover as she turned and placed her hand in his.

"Of course. But I thought you didn't dance?"

Cullen chuckled as he closed his hand around hers and pulled her to him. "For you. I'll try."

The two spun about the balcony for several minutes simply staring into each other's eyes before settling down into a much slower pace. The elf's grace couldn't entirely overcome Cullen's ineptitude at dancing, but it merely added to their poetry - him all muscle and brute force and her a lithe but deadly beauty. Dorian decided that if he were ever to write poetry, they would be the perfect muse.

Eventually, they moved further away from the doors and deeper into the dim corner of the balcony. Evana circled her arms around Cullen's waist and rested her head on his chest. He slipped his arms around her, his hands clasped and resting on the small of her back and his cheek on the crown of her head. Dorian continued to quietly drink his wine, his mirth slowly dissolving into a strange kind of tranquility. Despite the overwhelming sweetness of it all - something Dorian would normally find laughable and in which he would certainly find a wealth of ammunition for his own special brand of sarcasm - it was actually quite relaxing to watch them. He hadn't realized how comfortable the two had become with each other. _They might actually make it out of this mess together._

A strange mixture of emotions poured into his chest - a little bit of jealousy, a larger portion of happiness for his friends and a few vague, unnamable emotions swirling around in the depths. He'd never had a true relationship. Not like what he was witnessing right now. In Tevinter, his preferences were considered shameful, and if one decided to indulge them, one certainly didn't try to have a relationship after. It was sex. Period. Dorian thought he'd been happy with that. But these two - these seeming opposites who were inexplicably well-suited for each other - stirred in him a desire for more. What might it be like to have a true partner by his side? Someone to love him and support him?

His mind lingered briefly on his recent, strange interactions with a certain Qunari companion. The attention, though often vulgar, certainly satisfied a perverse desire inside him to be admired by everyone. Such admiration rarely came his way here in the south - at least not after his origins became known. He harbored no shame about being from Tevinter, but his self-importance certainly took a hit from the cold shoulders and narrowed glances, as if people expected demons to sprout up from the ground behind him wherever he walked. Perhaps that explained why Bull’s words simultaneously embarrassed and pleased him.

Not that he believed anything could come of it. Even a purely physical relationship would be dangerous considering Bull only _pretended_ to be Tal-Vashoth. Contemplating more would be insanity - how could a person ever trust someone who followed the Qun?

_And, impossible as it may seem, I’ve had too much wine if am I thinking about that filthy, giant, walking wall of muscle as a potential partner._

The sound of Cullen’s voice murmuring something in Evana’s ear interrupted Dorian’s downward spiral. He leaned forward, trying to hear them. Evana replied, but he only caught the last half.

"-just as guilty as the other, but with Gaspard exiled and Briala at her side, Celene has a chance to really unify Orlais. And... and elves have a chance to improve their standing in society with Briala as the first elven noblewoman. I know you were hoping for Gaspard, but…"

Cullen shook his head. "As long as Orlais remains at peace and we have their full support in our fight against Corypheus, I am satisfied. Gaspard is the right choice for war, but I understand Josephine's argument. How would he lead at the end of this war? I think we could have brokered peace, but Gaspard certainly would have required more work in the long run."

"I'm glad you're not upset... I... I was worried you might be."

Cullen smiled and pressed his lips her temple. "Please trust _me_ that I trust _you_. And I'm not going to be upset if you don't follow my advice to the letter. As our first encounter with your clan taught us, I don't _always_ give the best advice." He paused as she laughed lightly and then pulled back to look her in the eye as he continued. "Nor do I think my way is the only way. There are usually multiple paths to a desired end. I can give you one path, but that's why we also have Josephine and Leliana. They provide other paths, other choices. I know you'd never do anything that you thought would harm anyone. As long as it gets the job done, just point me in the right direction, Inquisitor."

"Hmmm... Such wisdom - and such trust, Commander. I think you might be my favorite advisor. Don't tell Josie or Leliana."

Cullen smiled again and briefly leaned down to touch his forehead to hers. His voice was quiet, but they were closer to Dorian now, and he just made out, "I wouldn't dream of it."

After a brief pause as they continued to circle the balcony, Evana spoke up in a jovial, teasing tone. "I'm glad I was finally able to steal you away from your _admirers_."

Dorian stifled a chuckle at Cullen's long-suffering groan. The man was clearly not used to being oogled.

"In the name of all that is holy,” he began in a harsh tone, “if I never see another noble, it will be too soon! I even explicitly told them I was..." He cleared his throat before continuing. "... That I was taken, but it seemed to make no difference."

Evana's teasing took on a tinge of sympathy. "Was it that awful?"

"I know I shouldn't complain when you all were out there risking your lives,” he admitted through a heavy sigh, “but... Maker's breath! I don't know how many times I was manhandled by those ravenous beasts."

"They actually _touched_ you?" Dorian perked up at the dangerous tone in Evana's voice. Jealousy rearing its ugly head?

"One of them grabbed my bottom for sure."

"Which one?” she asked, playing at pulling away from him to go find the person who’d accosted him. “I could immolate them right now. Celene would surely look the other way after all I've done for her tonight."

Cullen laughed quietly as he pulled her back and hugged her tighter against him. "That won't be necessary, but I do appreciate the sentiment."

They were barely moving anymore, just swaying back and forth in time to the music. Dorian smirked. _Unless they want the entire Orlesian court to know they're an item, they ought to separate... and soon._ As soon as the Commander's back was to the door, effectively blocking both their views, Dorian stealthily moved away from his hiding place and to the door. He immediately turned back around and, raising his glass and bottle, proceeded to scare them both into maintaining a more appropriate distance.

"Why hello! Aren't you two just _adorable_? How long have you been out here staring dreamily into each other's eyes?"

Cullen gave him a half embarrassed, half irritated glance. "Good evening - or rather, good morning, Dorian. Having a bit of wine to celebrate our victory?"

Dorian snorted. It wasn't fashionable, but he realized he _was_ actually a little bit drunk. No wonder his thoughts had run away with him earlier. He swirled the small bit of wine still coating the bottom of the bottle as he spoke.

"If by 'a bit,' you mean two bottles in, then yes. Don't worry, though. I've got a high tolerance. And I imagine we'll be leaving soon anyway."

Walking up to them, Dorian bowed and held his hand out to Evana. "Which means I need a dance from you, my dear. You need to be seen dancing with someone other than a murdering Grand Duchess and _your_ Commander, otherwise, tongues might start wagging... unless you are happy to let your little love affair become the gossip of Orlais?"

They both sighed and looked at each other. "I should check in with Josephine and Leliana," Cullen reluctantly admitted with a huff.

Cullen stepped away from Evana, bowed and gave her a particular look before leaving them to the balcony. Evana sighed and wistfully looked after Cullen as Dorian began twirling her around the balcony. After all their practice sessions, they fit together quite well. A dancing mage duo for the ages.

"Oh, don’t worry, he'll be alright now,” Dorian assured her. “I've got Cassandra on duty."

Evana looked at him, nonplussed. "You what?"

"I told Cassandra to be his bodyguard for the rest of the ball. Based on her glower, I thought she might start throwing punches at nobles if left to her own devices."

Evana let out an amused puff of air through her nose and smiled. "I'm sure Cullen will be grateful. Cole was even worried about him tonight - said the fat heads were 'hunting' him."

"Well, he is quite a delectable hunk of man,” Dorian agreed with a laugh. “You've caught yourself quite the specimen."

She smiled shyly. "I know. And I owe it all to you."

"To me?" Dorian asked in genuine surprise. "But it was Cole who gave you that tiny insight into Cullen's brain. Tell me honestly, if Cole hadn't 'helped' as he likes to call it, would you ever have spoken to Cullen?"

Evana looked away. Contrary to his natural inclination, he didn’t pressure her for an answer. He merely led her through a few more rounds. Finally, she shrugged.

"I honestly don't know. I'd like to think we would have gotten there eventually. It was more about... well... I guess I couldn't even admit it to myself, but it was more about me truly and irrevocably giving up my clan than anything else."

Dorian stopped abruptly, and Evana nearly tumbled to the ground.

"Creators, Dorian! What-"

"What do you mean, giving up your clan?"

Evana sighed and tried to let go of Dorian. He held her firmly in place as she looked down and then to the side. Anywhere but at him.

"Didn't you know?" she finally answered dryly - only the faint tremor in her voice betrayed her emotions. "I'm surprised with all your research that you haven't come across that little tidbit, yet. Elves who choose to be with humans are disowned by their clans. It's one of the few things all Dalish can agree on."

He could only stare at her. "Does... Cullen know?"

"N-not explicitly... but he asked a question last night that brought it to mind. Based on what I told him, I'm sure he'll reach that conclusion soon, if he hasn't already."

"Are you having second thoughts?" Evana finally turned to look at him, shock written all over her face. "Wha- no! I wouldn't trade what I have with him - with you all - for anything. I never would have admitted my feelings to him if I weren’t serious about... well, us, I guess. It's just... there's a certain amount of guilt that comes with turning your back on everything you've ever known. I don't want Cullen to have to deal with that. He's got enough on his shoulders."

Dorian gave her a sardonic grin and started them moving again. "I certainly have _no idea_ what you're talking about. None at all."

Evana nodded gave him and sympathetic smile. "Exactly. It's one of the reasons... one reason I feel more comfortable talking to you about this. But I suppose we're all misfits in our own way here in the Inquisition." She squeezed his arm as she spoke. "It's been easier the longer I'm away. I always had a fairly academic understanding of the Elvhen pantheon, but when I began studying Elvhen lore during my apprenticeship, my tenuous faith in the pantheon as true gods pretty much faded away. Discussions with Solas since joining the Inquisition have only strengthened that feeling."

"A crisis of faith more than a crisis of family, then?"

"For the Dalish, I'm not sure there's a distinction between the two. Our religion is our culture. It is who we are. To deny the Elvhen gods and defy the necessity for pure Elvhen bloodlines are one and the same in their eyes."

Dorian couldn't think of anything more to say. He’d already emptied his wine bottle, or he'd have had a drink. Evana stopped their dance and pulled at his hand as she moved toward the door.

"Come on. Let's go see if the others are ready to get out of here. I feel a bit like a walking corpse."

"Evana..."

He hesitated, unsure of what to say, but her face as she looked back at him over her shoulder - a sort of goofy, accepting expression – caused him to simply smile at her. What could he say that they hadn't already?

"Very well,” he finally relented. “I think they're out of the good wine anyway."

Evana squeezed his hand. "That's the spirit!"

She dragged him into the ballroom, and shortly thereafter, they were on their way back to the inn. Dorian smirked at Cullen as Evana slid into the seat beside the commander and promptly fell asleep while leaning against his arm. Cullen gently reached around her to pull her against him more firmly and then firmly avoided Dorian’s gaze by looking out the darkened window.

A small, rather wistful sigh from his left drew Dorian’s attention to his seatmate, Cassandra. Even in the dim moonlight, Dorian could see the tender expression on the stoic warrior’s face as she gazed at the scene opposite them. She seemed to sense him watching her and suddenly slouched into her seat with a huff. Dorian couldn’t hold back his low chuckle.

As the wheels clicked over cobblestone roads, he found himself wondering at Evana’s sudden admission to him about her clan. Although, after all that had happened during the course of the evening, he supposed she had good reason to be thinking of her clan. He'd heard the slurs against Evana tonight - likely even more than she'd heard herself. He'd grown up with elves as slaves, so he was barely any better than the Orlesian pigs who spoke of their Inquisitor as if she were chattel or a plaything for their amusement. It was easy to ignore the suffering of others when you never had to experience the hardship yourself.

However, being here, where Southerners eyed "'Vints" with distrust and disdain, had opened his eyes to his own hypocrisy. The whispered insults and thinly veiled jabs still clung to him like a bad odor. It wasn't nearly enough to make him want to go back to Tevinter, but like her, an evening such as this could only end in a fleeting nostalgia for the life he'd left behind, a weariness of the prejudices that left him forever in the fringes. In a rare fit of honest reflection, he admitted to himself that he carried a certain amount of undue disdain for Southerners. However, he could also admit that he’d found good and reasonable people amongst the supposed barbarians of the South. His growing friendship with Cullen was testament to that.

The carriage jolted to a stop in front of the inn, and Dorian helped Cullen guide the tired elf up to her room. Before even unlocking her door, Evana turned, slid her hands around Dorian's waist and squeezed him hard.

"Thank you for everything tonight,” she mumbled into his chest. “I know it probably wasn't fun being around all those rude people. Just know that I appreciate you."

Dorian smiled, wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed the elf on the top on the head. She must have overheard a few things about him, too. After a moment, he loosened his grasp.

"Now, now. That's enough seriousness for one night. To bed with you, heathen."

Cullen had stepped back for their exchange, but now he moved forward. To Dorian's surprise, Cullen leaned down to kiss her. It was quick - not at all like the kiss Dorian had accidentally witnessed before they left for the Western Approach - but it surprised him. Dorian had never thought the private and stoic Commander of the Inquisition would ever kiss a woman in front of an audience, even an audience of one. Perhaps they were both just that comfortable around him? The thought gave him an odd feeling in his chest, but he decided not to parse it further - not right now.

She smiled up at Cullen. "Goodnight, vhenan."

"Sleep well, Evana."

Evana turned, unlocked her door and then waved shyly at them both before closing the door behind her. Dorian gave Cullen a sidelong glance.

"You know, you don't have to keep up appearances for me."

Cullen had started to turn away, but he stopped to face Dorian now, a confused look on his face. "I'm not sure I-"

"I won't tell anyone if you just join her now instead of later."

"W-wha-?" Cullen stuttered as he rubbed the back of his neck and blushed furiously. "Oh... I... um... we don't..."

It was Dorian's turned to be confused. "I'm sorry. I had thought you two were together. At least, that's what slow dancing on deserted balconies and kissing on battlements, outside stables and in the middle of a hallway says to me."

"Uh... no... I mean, yes, we are together, but..." He sighed and dropped his hand. "We're... taking things slowly, and I'd rather not discuss it further than that."

Dorian quirked an eyebrow. For a moment, he debated needling the man further, but the Commander had likely already been pushed to his limits tonight. He affected a nonchalant expression and waved a dismissive gesture at the other man.

"As you wish. Sleep well."

"Goodnight, Dorian."

Dorian turned and headed for his own room, brows pulling together in consternation. They weren't sleeping together? As he walked down the hall to his own room, Dorian tried to comprehend the reasons for such a thing, but he simply couldn't. They were obviously in love. If one were given to theatrics - which of course he was - one might even say they were _meant_ for each other. Perhaps he'd had too much wine or was just too tired to process things properly. It would require a more thorough investigation, and if Cullen wouldn't talk about it, he'd have to come at it from the other direction. At least now he knew why Evana had refused to talk about Cullen's finer points during their trip. She didn't know any more about them than Dorian did.

Dorian unlocked his door, stripped down and flopped into bed. He'd think on it more tomorrow.


	42. In which the past plays havoc with the present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party returns to Skyhold, but all is not well with Cullen. As usual, he keeps it to himself.

They left the inn around noon the next day to begin the journey back to Skyhold. They rode until dusk, and after the lack of sleep from the night before, everyone turned in almost immediately. As Cullen pulled the covers around him and listened to Dorian's quiet snoring, he fervently wished for some tea. Yesterday's events combined with a hard day's ride had left him aching and restless. His ever-present headache needled into his brain making the itch for lyrium all the more irritating.

 _Speaking of irritating._ He hadn't recognized her immediately when they passed each other in the dim corridors of the Winter Palace, but when Evana had informed them that Celene's arcane advisor would be joining them at Skyhold as a liaison to the Empress, Cullen finally put it all together. _Morrigan._

Memories of Kinloch, never far away to begin with, rushed back to him. In his mind's eye, he could see Neria, the Hero of Ferelden, standing before his magical cage with Leliana and Morrigan, his body withered with thirst and hunger and his mind nearly broken from the torture. Among other things, the demons had tortured him with Neria's face - the face of his youthful infatuation - and Morrigan had witnessed him at the end of a descent into near madness. He'd demanded all the mages be killed, whether they were possessed or not, but Neria had refused, thank the Maker. The young and idealistic Leliana had been sympathetic to his condition, but even now, more than a decade later, he could still see Morrigan's cold, yellow eyes glaring at him through the transparent barrier of his prison. If she could've reached him, he had no doubt she would've killed him for his words alone.

After turning over a few times, trying to push the thoughts away, he finally gave up on sleep. If he didn't get up, he would wake Dorian with his restlessness. He quietly put his boots and doublet back on and exited the tent. The watches nodded to him as he sat down at the fire. Attempting to keep his mind busy, he ran over the previous day's events in his head before turning his thoughts to the future.

Unfortunately - for himself and for his work - they had been invited to a small gathering at Lady Seryl's estate in Jader. The detour would cost them little in time - they would stay the following evening at Lady Seryl's home, and leave again the following day - but he'd been looking forward to getting away from the nobles and back to work. He had much to organize now that Orlais could be counted as an ally. The last thing he wanted was spend another evening with them. He had an assault to plan.

Although none of them had spoken of it recently, the Grey Wardens and their potential demon army weighed heavily on them all. He'd done all he could to set things in motion before he left, but it would still take weeks, perhaps months, before preparations were complete. And just because they were planning an assault didn't mean other problems would go away. No, he'd have plenty to deal with once they returned to Skyhold.

A sharp pain pierced through his body, and he tensed as the ache spread from his chest and down his arms and legs. He felt a fine layer of sweat form on his skin as he struggled to maintain even breathing. Curling into himself, head resting on his knees, he repeated a Chant to himself for several minutes. Gradually, the pain dispersed, and he tentatively relaxed again, though his muscles now ached from how tensely he'd held himself while trying to ward off the pain.

Cullen cursed internally. All his planning depended on him performing his duties to the best of his ability. The symptoms had been manageable to this point, but only with Evana's help. He relied on her tea and draughts almost completely now, and even they couldn't fight back the worst of the withdrawal. He'd been a fool to think he could go this entire trip without...

"Couldn't sleep, either?"

Evana's soft voice startled him from his thoughts, and he turned to find her in the process of settling beside him.

"No," he admitted. "Despite the lack of sleep, I'm feeling a bit restless."

"Me, too. I came out to make some tea." She glanced over at the watchman on the other side of the camp and then lowered her voice even more. "I'm glad to have your company, vhenan. We don't have a kettle, so I'll have to use magic. Will that bother you?"

"Uh, no. Of course not."

Cullen just stared at her. Her delicate features reflected the soft warmth of the firelight, and it dawned on him that she'd pulled her hair back. It had grown longer since she'd first joined them, but this was the first time he'd seen it this way. She'd braided the silvery strands tightly against her head, starting at the crown, and he marveled internally at how it opened her face and exposed to him the soft lines of her jaw, the curve of her high cheekbones, the smooth expanse of her forehead decorated with the crisscrossing lines of her vallaslin. He realized he'd never seen it fully and studied the lines now with interest, eager to learn more of her, commit every part of her to memory.

He almost thought she might be a figment of his imagination. He had, after all, been wishing for tea - her tea - and now here she sat making it for him. Surely he was dreaming. But she continued to work quietly as she set two wooden cups on the ground and filled them with water. Then, she pulled out a pouch and added the leaves. Finally, he felt the small pull of her magic all around him, and the air shimmered slightly as she heated the water. Instantly, the smell of earth and herbs surrounded them. The familiar scent seemed to have a subtle calming effect all on its own, and he was forced to admit this was real. She was real. Here. With him. He marveled anew at his luck.

She handed him a mug. The warmth of it radiated out to his chilled fingers.

"Here you are," she murmured with a small smile.

"Thank you. I'm sorry you're having trouble sleeping."

"I'm just restless, like you," she replied softly. "I feel tired, but my brain won't stop running in circles. So much has happened, but all I can think about is what might be ahead. And... I'm not really looking forward to tomorrow night, either."

Cullen smirked. "After last night, me neither. I had no idea that joining Cassandra's cause would bring this kind of attention. Ironically, it's your leadership that has made our organization so powerful - and therefore desirable - in the first place."

Evana smiled at him. "Without _your_ leadership, we wouldn't be here at all. It's not surprising that others are starting to take notice."

Cullen smiled and tilted his head to her. "Thank you, but as I said last night, there's only one person's attention I crave. And she's having tea with me right now."

She quirked a brow and smiled at him. "Hmmmm... you do have a way with words, Commander."

He just laughed quietly. Sharing his feelings with her became easier each time he allowed himself the liberty. Perhaps her positive reactions had made him less frightened that he might say too much? He still had much to work through and many unanswered questions, include new questions about her clan after what they had discussed the night before. But sitting around a campfire within earshot of two guards was neither the time nor place to discuss any of those things. So for now, he determined to be comfortable. They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their tea, and he felt the herbs begin their work. Finally, she broke their comfortable silence.

"How long do you think it will be before we can head to the Western Approach - to Adamant?"

"At least another month, but probably longer. I'll need to check in with Rylen about supplies and troop numbers. We'll have to arrange transport of the siege equipment and ensure Harritt is on track with the other blacksmiths for armor and weapons. Getting the troops out there will take at least a few weeks, fully loaded as they'll be with equipment and supplies. We'll also need to talk over strategies for the battle - best and worst-case scenarios based on the plans from Adamant..." Cullen sighed and gave her a weak smile. "We have much to do. But thanks to you taking Griffon Wing Keep, we're already ahead of the game. It will be hard fought, but I believe we can do this."

Evana chuckled wryly. "It's good to know my Commander has confidence in our abilities. I thought I might use the time to finish stabilizing the Emerald Graves and then stop off at the Exalted Plains. I might even head back to the Western Approach early. I didn't have a chance-"

She interrupted herself with a large yawn. Cullen gave her a sympathetic look.

"We'll have time to discuss all this back at Skyhold. Why don't you go ahead and get some sleep?"

"What about you?" she asked with poorly concealed concern coloring her tone.

He looked into his half empty mug. "I'll just finish my tea and head to bed shortly."

She gave him a skeptical look but said nothing. Glancing toward the nearest guard to find him turned away from them, she leaned toward Cullen to kiss his cheek, but he surprised even himself by turning his head to meet her lips instead. After a blissful moment of delicate pressure, she pulled away, blushing furiously and glancing at the guards again. She shot him a shy smile, and then left him there by the fire.

Maker, how he wished he could lay by her side and hold her tonight... and every night. If he'd realized how his one night with her would ruin him for sleeping alone, he never would have...

 _Who do you think you're kidding?_ He'd have done it just the same. He could still feel the press of her back against him, the way their legs and hands entwined as they slept. When he'd woken with her in his arms, he'd been sure it was a dream. But then he remembered - he didn't have _good_ dreams.

Perhaps one day, after he'd told her the truth about himself and learned a bit more about her in return, he'd give himself permission to... stay the night with her. At least once in a while... if she wanted him... and if she didn't end things first.

The deeply scarred, insecure part of him had feared that eventuality from the beginning - and was astonished she hadn't already.

Cullen felt his eyelids grow heavy. _Finally_. He drained the remainder of the tea and made his way back to his tent, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

 

**

 

"Cullen! Cullen, wake up! You're having a nightmare."

Dorian's voice pulled him out of the Circle - out of the grasp of the desire demon and, not surprisingly, the depths of Morrigan's cat-like eyes. He shot straight up in bed, nearly cracking skulls with Dorian. The blood rushed through his ears as images from his dream held him in thrall. The thin layer of sweat covering his skin now cooled in the morning air, and he shivered.

Cole's voice cut through his fog. " _Cold, dark, temptations all around. I will not give in. I shall endure. Maker... please..._ "

He groaned internally. "I apologize for waking you both. Please, I'm alright. Go back to sleep."

Dorian looked unconvinced. "You're sure? Would you like me to wake Evana?"

"No!" Cullen said quickly, a tiny surge of panic rippling through him. He took a breath and tempered his tone. "No. Thank you. I... I'm quite used to it."

The last thing he wanted was to worry her even more. She didn't need to shoulder his burdens as well as her own.

"You're 'used to it'?" Dorian questioned, the concern in his tone deepening.

"I often have nightmares," Cullen explained with affected calm. "It is of no concern."

Cole looked like he might say something else, but Cullen jerked his head in a nearly imperceptible negating motion to silence the boy. Dorian nodded and gave Cullen a final searching glance before sliding back under his covers, and Cullen laid back down to try to sleep again.

It was no use. Every time he closed his eyes, the images from his nightmare filled his brain. Although the tea still helped him fall asleep, it certainly wasn't blocking out the nightmares anymore. Another result of the worsening withdrawal. _Maker, when will it end? Will I ever be whole again?_

"You will."

There was a time he'd have found Cole's whispered affirmation to be completely unnerving, but now, somehow, he found a strange comfort in it. Cole believed it, which made it easier for Cullen to believe that someday he might feel well and whole. He wasn't sure he could even remember what "whole" felt like.

Today, however, was not that day. After staring at the ceiling of the tent for several minutes wrestling with the after effects of the nightmare, he finally got up and dressed for the day. The gradual lightening of the tent told him dawn approached. If he couldn't sleep, he could at least begin preparations for breaking camp. The dull ache of a headache niggled at the back of his brain as he quietly worked to set up for breakfast. Cole came with him and helped but said nothing, for which Cullen was immensely grateful. A little after sunrise, Leliana joined them around the fire.

"How long have you been up?"

"Not long," he lied.

Leliana looked around her at the mostly packed camp. "Right."

"I'm used to being up early. And Cole's been up with me."

Leliana just hummed at him, her gaze at once knowing and somehow sympathetic, and fell into silence. With the memories of the Kinloch and Morrigan still floating in his brain, he almost asked after the Hero of Ferelden... but then thought better of it. Leliana surely knew that his 18-year-old self had been infatuated with the elven mage under his care in the Ferelden Circle, and he didn't want the spymaster to think he was asking after Neria because he still harbored feelings for her. So they sat together quietly until Leliana finally broke the silence. He found her thoughts had echoed his own.

"Morrigan is to join us, then, yes? I will admit, though we traveled together extensively during the Blight, she is not my... favorite person. And you... will you be quite comfortable with her around?"

Astonished and touched by Leliana's show of concern, Cullen responded in kind. "It was a long time ago. We are none of us the same people we were then, for better or worse."

"Still, I know we spoke of this when you first joined but... I often wonder if my presence causes you pain at times, knowing that I saw you at your lowest point."

Despite the roiling in his gut, he tried to keep his tone light. "It's alright, Leliana. Nothing has changed since then except for how much my respect for you and your work has grown. All I remember from our first meeting is your kindness - and I've already apologized for my harsh words in return. Unless you wish for me to apologize again?"

Leliana shot him a wry grin. "That won't be necessary."

"I will likely avoid her if at all possible, but that has less to do with her presence in the keep and more to do with the fact that-"

"-that she is utterly smug and unlikable?" Leliana finished with a grimace. Her voice softened slightly as she added, "What Neria sees in her to call her friend, I will never understand. Well I remember her smug distain for the rest of us... poor Ali bore the worst of it."

Cullen tried to bite his tongue and resist the urge, but Leliana had left him with the opening. He had to take it.

"How is the Hero, by the way? Have you heard from her recently?"

"No."

The short, biting answer brooked no follow up question or even a sympathetic response. They sat in silence once more, but this time, the tension overwhelmed him. He should have known better. If he'd thought about it at all, he would have realized it must be difficult for Leliana to be so often separated from her love. After all, he could relate. Next time, he'd keep his idle curiosity to himself.

By the time the tension between them finally dissipated, Cassandra and Josephine had joined them around the fire. The soldiers had already packed up and were eating breakfast.

Finally, Evana and Dorian joined them for a quick breakfast, and they started off for Jader. After stopping briefly for a midday meal, they arrived at Lady Seryl's home just after sunset. Josephine had procured "appropriate" clothing for them in Halamshiral, so they retired to freshen up and change clothes. Cullen would have much rather spent the evening working - or better yet, with Evana - but he was pleasantly surprised to find the gathering was to be a very small party of Jader nobility. At least he wouldn't have to keep up appearances for an entire room full of people.

He emerged from his room as Evana passed by on her way to the stairs. She wore a simple but elegant pale blue long-sleeved dress. Instead of the large, chunky waves of Halamshiral, she'd braided her hair as it had been last night except for the several curled, loose locks that framed her pale face. The effect was enchanting. She paused to greet him and gave him a teasing grin - almost a smirk.

"Care to escort me down, Commander?"

"I... uh..." He cleared his throat in an attempt to focus on creating a coherent sentence. "Yes, I'd love to," he finally managed.

He offered her his arm and smiled as her hand curled around his elbow. Although he felt a bit exposed without his armor, he relished the feel of her fingers gripping his arm through the formal shirt and jacket as they began their slow descent.

"You look quite dashing, Ser Rutherford," she commented airily. "I'd hardly recognize you but for that alluring scar on your lip. I think I quite like seeing you out of your armor."

Cullen coughed and felt the heat of a blush spread over his face. He stole a glance at her and witnessed the exact moment she caught on to the double meaning in her words. It was her turn to stutter and blush.

"That is... I... um... I meant seeing you in plain clothes, not ... I mean, not that I wouldn't like... oh... my..."

They paused halfway to the first landing, still hidden in the shadows, and she covered her burning face with her free hand. She tried to withdraw her other hand at his elbow, but rather than let her go, he turned and caught her around the waist, pulling her to him as he'd wanted to do since Dorian had forced them to part at the Winter Palace. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder... and started laughing quietly.

"There I was, trying to be suave and confident. I should have just played it off like I meant it that way. I mean, we are... we are... together."

He laughed with her for a moment before placing a gentle hand to her jaw and lifting her face to meet his gaze. "Yes. We are," he affirmed quietly.

Cullen leaned forward and this time witnessed the moment she understood his intent. Her lids fluttered closed as his nose touched hers, and he tilted his head slightly, his heart racing as his lips drew nearer to their goal. Why did every time feel like the first time with her? Why did his body react with such intensity - the kind of intensity he'd not felt in years... if ever?

He used every ounce of his willpower to slowly, chastely brush his lips over hers, but the way her lips felt - warm, soft, inviting - Maker's breath, his willpower came up short. Being in her company but unable to touch her or kiss her had worn on him. He pressed his mouth more firmly over hers and deepened the kiss, enthralled by how she responded to him so quickly, so effortlessly. He let his fingers slide over her cheek and down her neck, and she let out a soft but vocal sigh into his mouth.

A vague thought played at the back of his brain. _We shouldn't be doing this. Not here. Not now. We could be caught at any moment._ With a groan of reluctance, he broke the kiss and pulled back slightly, though he didn't let her go just yet. Her chest heaved invitingly as her labored breathing mingled with his own. She opened her eyes slowly, lazily, and he fought back the inappropriate visions dancing before him of her flushed cheeks and languid smile in an entirely different setting.

"Perhaps we should not kiss on Lady Seryl's stairway," he breathed, a wry grin curving his lips.

Evana gave him a coy grin in return. "Perhaps not."

He placed one last kiss on her cheek as he murmured in her ear, "Although I do remember you giving me permission to kiss you whenever I like."

She laughed breathily in his ear, and a shiver ran down his spine. "So I did. But I think you'd be more embarrassed than me if we were caught."

"Hmmmm... you might be right."

He offered her his arm once more, and after a final moment to regain their composure, they joined the party. Josephine already stood with a group of nobles in a corner, and the rest of her companions joined them shortly thereafter. He registered Cole's presence here and there, but none of nobles seemed to notice him at all. The Orlesian pomp and circumstance was almost more ostentatious here than in Halamshiral, but Lady Seryl's support of the Inquisition bought her their time and polite conversation, regardless. Cullen knew he in particular couldn't afford to snub the lady or he risked losing a large portion of his siege equipment.

Unfortunately for the Commander, Lady Seryl seemed particularly enamored with him. He retreated to Evana's side whenever possible, but the noble woman would always draw him back into her conversation. By the time they turned in for the evening, Cullen had a splitting headache, and he thought in passing that it might have been better to build the siege equipment with his own two hands rather than endure such an evening.

 

**

 

The party arrived at Skyhold late the following day. Several nobles had arrived ahead of them, and as Josephine dragged Evana away to meet with them, Cullen gave her a sympathetic look before heading to his office to deal with the work that had accumulated in his absence.

He found himself still awake at midnight, running over the reports he'd missed in the last several days and sorting out priority for requests and requisitions. The most alarming request came in the form of a note from Harritt stating that his current staff simply wouldn't be able to finish all the required armor in the time frame necessary for the assault. The Inquisition's forces had grown to a point that he could no longer keep up with the demand. They would need to find an additional - and trusted - master blacksmith to guide a second shift of workers in the armory.

Cullen made note to find and speak with Harritt the next day and settled back in his chair to rub his temples. The headaches plagued him still, but the nightmares were worse. Without the lyrium to help him forget, the dreams of his time in Kinloch Hold and of the Kirkwall Rebellions were becoming more intense. He found himself more often than not dwelling on the dark thoughts and whispered temptations he'd endured from the demons all those years ago - even in the light of day. And last night, he'd relived every death he'd witnessed at the hands of the abominations in vivid detail - as if not a day had passed. The images flashed before his eyes again, and he sucked in an angry breath.

"I _shall_ endure."

The words came out as more a growl than a prayer. The willpower it now took to simply remain focused exhausted him. Cullen sunk deeper into his chair and pushed harder on his temples. A sharp stab of pain, enough to make him gasp at the sudden intensity, shot through his left eye. He stood up and found his legs weak - he would have fallen to the floor if he hadn't grabbed onto the chair. A bead of sweat rolled down his face and fell into the seat of the chair as he held onto the arms. After another moment, Cullen pushed himself up. He _would_ endure. He had to. The song called to him, but he deliberately avoided looking at the shelf across the room.

Crossing the room slowly, he placed the kettle on the fire and turned back to ready his mug.  Pulling off his gloves, he dosed out the tea and then leaned against the mantle to admire the skill and effort she'd put into the pouches as he waited for the water to boil. The designs were delicate and precise - not floral exactly, but they did remind him of forests and trees. He shook his head. All this - her heritage and her family - she had given up to stay and fight with the Inquisition. Even if she hadn't always been happy with her clan, even if she'd told them to move on without her, wouldn't she want to go back in the end?

Finally, after avoiding it for days, he allowed himself to think back to their conversation about Dalish customs. Her vague words had left him with more questions than answers, but in the back of his mind, he knew what it really meant.

His jaw clenched involuntarily as he slowly replaced the pouch, pushed away from the mantle and began pacing. The books he'd read on Dalish customs had been vague as well, but one thing was clear - the Dalish didn't like _any_ humans, which meant clan Lavellan wouldn't like _him_ and would certainly never accept him as a proper partner for Evana.

What did that mean for her... for both of them? Their connection still seemed so tentative, so fragile. After the war, if any of them survived, would she truly want to build a life with someone like him, someone human, someone so broken? Would her clan force her to choose? Could he in good conscience ask her to give it all up - her previous life, her family, her entire prior existence - for him?

With a pained cry, Cullen let his bare fist connect with the stone wall beside him and then breathed heavily as the pain radiated from his now bruised knuckles to his palm and through his forearm. His head felt as if it might split in two from the wedge being driven into the base of his skull. Dark memories of past actions and whispers of inadequacy muddled his brain, but one thing stood out crystal clear from the muddy ruins of his thoughts - a sudden, inescapable knowledge that wounded him more deeply than any blade he'd ever known.

He could never presume to ask her to sacrifice so much for him. _It doesn't matter what I do, what I want. When this is all over, I must let her go._

_I'm going to lose her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, things are getting worse for Cullen. I'm sure you can see where this is going.
> 
> If you're interested in hearing more about Leliana and Neria's (as well as Alistair and Neria's) relationship, head over to [Part 3 of Revelations, "Give a Heart, Get a Throne,"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9445139/chapters/21369947) where I'm gradually writing out little snippets of their time together during the DAO timeline. I'm also taking prompts for those particular characters, so let me know here or on Tumblr if you want to know anything specific about them. :)
> 
> Those of you following along with Part 2, Truths Half Told Beget Lives Half Lived, the next update will be coming out soon!


	43. In which things fall apart

As soon as they returned to Skyhold, Josephine swept Evana into a flurry of nonstop meetings with various Orlesian nobles and Ferelden lords visiting them after the Inquisition’s “stunning win” at the Winter Palace. As soon as Madame de Fer arrived, the other mage requested a "chat" that left Evana internally seething and dangerously close to telling the woman exactly where she could shove her pro Circle rhetoric. In between, she managed to continue her research into the magical properties of rifts with Dorian and Solas, practice hand-to-hand with Cassandra, keep up with her paperwork... and unfortunately got bullied into one extraordinarily awkward conversation with Dorian about why she and Cullen weren’t sleeping together.

She needed a break, but even more, she needed a little time with Cullen - preferably private time. She'd only been able to sneak off three or four times in the past week for a few precious minutes in their tower. It wasn't enough, especially as he seemed to be... struggling.

At first, she thought he might simply be recovering from his poor experience at Halamshiral, but each time she saw him, she became more concerned. The shadows under his eyes deepened. His skin took on a sickly pallor. As she walked about Skyhold with this or that noble, she noticed his absence at morning or afternoon exercises with his officers. She also noticed the messengers or soldiers hurrying away from his office as if Corypheus himself were chasing them down.

On top of that, his kisses had become rather desperate, and she would often leave their secluded tower feeling positively ravished. Yesterday, he’d barely spoken to her at all. He merely pulled her against him and commenced kissing her until she felt like she might melt into a puddle right there in front of him. She wasn’t necessarily complaining about _that_ , but it felt off.

He wouldn't talk to her about it, however - insisted everything was fine - which left her to wallow in her worry, unsure of what to do. Every tentative question related to his health put him in a sour mood, and she found herself avoiding the touchy subject just to preserve peace during what precious little time they had together.

After almost a week back in Skyhold, she gladly waved goodbye to the latest group of lords and ladies. Josephine expected more to begin arriving soon for the First Day celebrations she'd planned for the following week, but Evana had already bowed out at the war council that morning. As long as the weather held, she planned to leave for the Emerald Graves at dawn to finish what she’d started there.

Tonight, however, she would stand firm and convince her Commander take a much needed break, no matter how grumpy he might be about it. It was still early afternoon, but she thought she would give him a heads up in case he had things he needed to finish up before she effectively commanded him away from his duties. She entered his office, but instead of Cullen, she found his messenger.

“Inquisitor. If you’re looking for the Commander, he’s gone to speak with Seeker Pentaghast in the armory.”

Evana's gut constricted immediately, foreboding prickling over her skin and down her spine. "Ah... yes. Thank you."

She stood awkwardly in the office for a few moments before heading out to walk along the battlements. When she came upon the stairs to the upper courtyard, she paused. Should she seek him out? It could be nothing. They could be talking about new armor. Cullen and Harritt had both spoken with her about the search for an additional master blacksmith to oversee armory work. Perhaps he and Cassandra were merely discussing logistics of testing out potential candidates?

Her gut clenched again. His strange behavior and deteriorating health told her it was more. Had Cassandra noticed and requested to see him? He’d barely been able to pay attention in the war council meeting this morning. Was it because he was worried about what Cassandra might say?

She took the stairs down to the armory and cautiously edged the door open. Cassandra’s voice floated toward her, frustration apparent in every word.

“You asked for my opinion, and I’ve given it. Why would you expect it to change?”

Evana stopped, unsure of whether to continue or not. Cullen’s voice was low, almost a growl as he bit back, “I expect you to keep your word! It’s relentless. I can’t-”

As she slowly pushed the door open enough to slip through, Cullen came into view. He had his hand over his face, and Cassandra’s voice took on a softer tone.

“You give yourself too little credit.”

“If I’m unable to fulfill what vows I kept, then nothing good has come of this! Would you rather save face than admit-”

Cullen stopped speaking when the door gave a loud click as she closed it behind her. She walked forward tentatively, but Cullen didn’t even look at her as he turned and passed by with a whispered, “Forgive me.” The tortured look on his face broke her heart, but she was at a loss for how to help him. Beside her, Cassandra gave a loud sigh.

“And people say _I’m_ stubborn," she said with a shake of her head. "This is ridiculous.”

As he firmly closed the door behind him, Cassandra turned to her. “Cullen told you that he’s no longer taking lyrium?”

“Yes, and I respect his decision.”

“As do I. Not that he’s willing to listen. Cullen has asked that I recommend a replacement for him.”

Evana’s heart almost stopped. It wasn’t Cassandra. _Cullen_ was the one who thought himself no longer fit to lead. He wanted to leave. Creators, how could she do this without him?

_Yes, think of yourself. That's a wonderful response, Evana._

“I refused," Cassandra assured. "It’s not necessary. Besides, it would destroy him. He’s come so far.”

Evana sighed, her arms wrapping tightly around her waist. “Why didn’t he come to me?”

She said it more to herself than anything, but Cassandra answered. “We had an agreement long before you joined us. As a Seeker, I could evaluate the dangers. And he wouldn’t want to… risk your disappointment.”

Her disappointment. Was she disappointed? No. Certainly not. Afraid of losing him, yes. But never disappointed.

“Is - is there anything we can do to change his mind?” she asked tentatively.

“If anyone could, it’s you.” Evana felt her face turn hot, but Cassandra seemed not to notice and continued on. “Mages have made their suffering known, but templars never have. They are bound to the Order, mind and soul, with someone always holding their lyrium leash. Cullen has a chance to break that leash, to prove to himself - and anyone who would follow suit - that it’s possible. He _can_ do this. I knew that when we met in Kirkwall. You should talk to him.”

Cassandra turned away, and Evana wandered back out into the courtyard, her mind racing in a million directions at once. She looked up to his tower. He was there now, suffering in silence, as always. Could she really help him? Cassandra seemed to think so, seemed to believe she could keep him on track. But if she talked with him, would he become angry with her for interfering? Wouldn't it just drive him further away? She felt herself begin to panic at the thought.

_No. You can’t go to him like this. You have to be calm. You have to approach this as the Inquisitor talking to her Commander. Get it together - for his sake._

Evana breathed deeply for a few moments. She needed more time to put on her Inquisitor mask. She did it so rarely in front of him anymore, even in war council meetings. Instead of taking the nearest stairs up to the battlements, she took the long way around. Perhaps she could calm herself by the time she reached the stables. Letting her arms fall away from her waist, Evana lifted her chin and walked across the upper courtyard, down to the lower courtyard and toward the stables. If she acted cool and collected, maybe she could fool herself into thinking she really _was_.

Surprisingly, it seemed to work at least enough to contemplate confronting Cullen. The nerves settled as she focused on the rhythm of her footsteps and the words she might say to him. She passed by the gates, pulled her shoulders back and then walked up the stairs to his office. _Just a small conversation. Not a big deal. You can do this._ The door was open when she reached the top of the stairs, so she paused a moment to collect herself and then headed inside.

She jerked to a stop as wood and glass smashed into the door right near her head. She jumped back with little gasp and placed her hand over her suddenly pounding heart. The iridescent glow of lyrium trickled down the door and pooled on the floor, filling the air with the faint shimmer of and hum of magic. At her gasp, he looked up, and a panicked expression crossed his face.

“Maker’s breath! I didn’t hear you enter! I-” He stopped, his face falling, filling with pain as he shook his head and whispered, “Forgive me.”

Evana wasn’t sure what to say. Everything she’d rehearsed on the way here had flown out of her head with the smashing of the wooden box.

“Cullen… I came… um… if you need to talk…”

He began walking out from behind his desk. “You don’t have to-”

Suddenly, his knee buckled, but he caught himself on the side of the desk with a short exhalation. She lurched toward him, but he waved her off. She paused awkwardly halfway between the door and his desk and watched him grip at the desk for support.

“I never meant for this to interfere,” he murmured, almost too low for her to hear.

“Are - are you alright?”

“Yes…” He sighed. “I don’t know.”

He finally looked up at her revealing the defeated look in his eyes. Creators, what she wouldn’t give to just be able to hold him! But she already knew he wouldn’t let her do that. He wouldn’t accept her concern and comfort now any more than he had during the previous week. Not yet, anyway.

“You asked once what happened to Ferelden’s Circle-” he began.

Evana shook her head. “Cullen, you don’t have to-”

“No! Please… let me… I need to tell you this now. Before… before I lose the nerve…” His voice descended into a harsh whisper. “Or my mind.”

Her heart jumped to her throat at his words, but she remained silent, scared that any word from her would prevent him from saying what he clearly needed to say. His face turned hard and his jaw clenched. The tone in his voice - she’d never heard it before. He sounded almost… frantic.

“During the Blight, Ferelden’s Circle was taken over by abominations thanks to a few mages who began summoning demons. The templars - _my friends_ \- were slaughtered in front of me.” The frantic tone took on an angry tinge. He pushed up off his desk and walked slowly away from her to stand by the slit of a window that looked out over the Frostbacks. “I was tortured. They tried to break my mind, and I- How can you be the same _person_ after that? Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted my Knight-Commander, and for what? Her fear of mages ended in madness. Kirkwall’s Circle fell, and innocent people died in the streets.” He turned away from the window to face her again, a wild, trapped look in his eyes. “Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?”

“Of course I can! I-”

“Don’t! You... of all people, _you_ should be questioning what I’ve done!” He covered his face with his hand and walked toward her. His hand dropped as he began pacing in front of her, the frantic tone in his voice turning to near on panic. “I thought this would be better - that I would regain some control over my life. But these thoughts won’t _leave me_! How many lives depend on our success? I _swore_ myself to this cause… I will _not_ give less to the Inquisition than I did to the Chantry. _I should be taking it!_ ”

Cullen stopped at the bookshelf and launched his fist into the side of the shelf. Evana jumped at the sudden violence, but his voice instantly turned soft even as his fist stayed planted against the now splintered wood.

“I should be taking it.”

Evana shook her head, but he wasn’t looking at her. She approached him as she might a caged or trapped animal.

“Cullen," she said in her most soothing tones, "this doesn’t have to be about the Inquisition. Is this what _you_ want?”

He looked up from the floor, and for the first time during the conversation, he seemed to truly _see_ her. He exhaled forcefully, the final vestiges of the breath forming into a barely-there whisper.

“No.”

His hand dropped from the bookshelf as she stepped closer. He watched her, his expression still defeated, but she could almost see the battle between self-preservation and duty raging inside his head as his voice turned soft.

“But, these memories have always haunted me - if they become worse, if I cannot endure this…”

Cassandra believed he could make it through this. Evana would believe, too - had to believe. She could not bear subjecting him to the alternative, to something that would so thoroughly destroy his spirit. She raised a hand to his cheek and spoke with as much firmness as she could muster… to let him hear how much she believed in him.

“You _can_.”

He closed his eyes and leaned briefly into her palm before raising his own hand to cover hers. They stood that way for a long moment before he finally looked at her again, this time with a familiar, if faint, glint of determination.

“Alright.”

She smiled softly and let the silence linger for a heartbeat, then two, before tentatively mentioning her original intent in coming to find him. “I was going to steal you away tonight, but...”

“I just need a moment. Perhaps… we could speak another time?”

She swallowed as he removed her hand from his face and allowed their clasped hands to hang loosely between them. The look on his face told her the “moment” would be more than just a few hours this afternoon. She couldn’t bring herself to remind him she’d be leaving tomorrow at dawn. It seemed too self-serving. So, she nodded.

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

She plastered on an encouraging smile before turning to walk out the way she came, letting her fingers slide slowly out of his. Somehow, though, leaving him alone in his tower felt like more than a physical separation. He had allowed her a glimpse at a small piece of his inner struggles. It should have felt like progress, but instead it felt like a barrier had come down between them.

She hoped with all she had that it was only temporary.

 

**

 

For the first time since the beginning of her time with the Inquisition, Cullen wasn’t waiting for her at the stables the next morning. Evana tried not to read into it. He’d been through so much, and if he were still sleeping right now, it was much needed. She couldn’t begrudge him that.

Still, as she, Blackwall, Iron Bull and Cole rode out of Skyhold and into the misty gray morning, she couldn’t help the sadness that pulled painfully at the feelings deeply rooted in her heart. She felt the tension in every part of her - vines crossed over and through and around so that removal would require ripping her entire heart from her chest. That kind of pain she had no wish to contemplate, but she might not get a choice in the matter if he decided... if he didn't want...

She shook her head to clear away the unwanted thoughts and chastised herself for her weakness. It was selfish and unfair to rely on him so much, especially when she had a faithful group of companions who had all offered to be her supports. She had to stop putting so much on Cullen. He had enough to deal with. And if he wished to... not be with her anymore, well... she would just have to learn to live without her heart.

The unseasonably warm month of Haring had left the lower passes open later than usual, so they spent the next few days trudging over the spine of the mountain. Finally, they emerged from the foothills and headed south for the Dales to pick up where they left off during her last visit to the region. The Inquisition soldiers greeted them heartily, and the officers at her final camp were especially glad to see the Inquisitor well and unharmed after her sudden illness.

Scouts had gathered up the locations of the remaining rifts in the area. She also needed to revisit the possible agent - Fairbanks - who also happened to be a noble hiding from his birthright. Iron Bull had wryly noted that Fairbanks might be the only noble Sera would ever like - seeing as he was helping the “little people.” Evana had her doubts about that, but Fairbanks would definitely be a strong agent and ally for the Inquisition. So she agreed to keep his birthright a secret and recruited him as she had done so many others.

After almost two weeks away from Skyhold, Evana finally sent a report back to the advisors. She was unsure why she’d waited so long, but she didn’t want to slow down enough to parse the feeling. She kept moving, working, doing, helping. She and Cole had been sharing a tent, and she could tell he wanted to speak to her. Something held him back, though - perhaps their conversation a few weeks ago, perhaps something else entirely. She was glad of it, and yet it worried her. Was he silent because what he could tell her would hurt her?

On top of that, Cole had mysteriously requested a sheet of parchment and ink from the officer that night. He wrote a short note and handed it to the scout before Evana could even think about being nosy. Cole simply looked at her - into her, really, in that certain way he had - and then turned away.

The next day, she received a message from Leliana asking rather firmly for a status update. The crows must have crossed in the night.

Then, on what she'd meant to be their final day in the Graves, they found the dragon - an ice dragon of all things - and for the first time, Evana thought she might feel a sliver of the excitement Bull always talked about when facing down a dragon. She pulled out her fire staff imbued with one of Dagna’s fire runes, readied her fire spells - her best spells - and smirked at the luck that she’d just gained a ton of cold resistance from the temple in the oasis. Perhaps it had been worth the unbearable cold sickness. Her feet faltered slightly as the feel of Cullen’s warm body wrapped around hers flashed through her memory. She shoved it away. It wouldn’t do any good to think of him. She had a dragon to kill - more practice for taking down Corypheus’ archdemon. If she ever got that far.

Setting a barrier over them all, she whispered her instructions. Once the fighting began, there would be no time to regroup, so she made sure everyone understood the dragon’s weaknesses and strengths. She was most worried for Cole.

“ _Small, deadly, but fragile._ Don’t worry about me. Fleet fading steps. I’ll be alright.”

“You will be as long as you stay away from the ice balls that thing is going to hurl at us,” she warned.

“Cole’s right. Don’t worry ‘bout a thing, boss. We got this.”

She smirked at Bull’s confidence before nodding her head once. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

The fight took longer than she’d thought it would. Although she tried to stay back and use ranged attacks, the dragon would occasionally draw them all in with a whirlwind from its wings. She nearly got stomped several times and had to rouse Cole from unconsciousness with a potion at least twice. It took all her focus to maintain barriers over everyone and also keep up her offensive attacks. After a few frostbitten moments, they finally toppled the beast. They headed back to the nearest Inquisition camp to tend their wounds and sent soldiers to gather what resources they could from the dragon corpse. All three companions had some sort of wound or frostbite for her to heal. Her skills had improved, but after the fight and then healing everyone, her mana was low. She needed to relax and refocus.

Heading off to a nearby creek, she made sure she was alone before stripping out of her armor and down to her small clothes. It felt good to wash off the dragon blood and her own sweat, even with those small bits of modesty clinging to her body. She wished she could risk taking them off, but Josie had reminded her plenty of times during the early days of the Inquisition that it wouldn’t do for the Herald of Andraste to be seen traipsing around in nothing but her own skin. She respected Josie, so she respected the rule even if she didn’t quite understand it.

Taking advantage of the quiet, she lazily floated in the clear, cool water a bit longer than absolutely necessary as she took stock of their time in the Emerald Graves. They had closed all the known rifts, killed all the red templars, set up enough Inquisition camps to maintain the peace, recovered all the shards to unlock more doors in the temple in the Oasis, claimed all the abandoned logging operations and quarries the scouts had found, recruited Fairbanks... and now killed a dragon. Time to move on. Should they head to the Exalted Plains? It was only a couple day's ride west. She'd told the advisors she'd return after her time here, but she finally admitted, if only to herself, that a large part of her didn't want to go back. Not yet.

Somewhere above her, a bird loudly proclaimed his territory to another. A scuffle broke out as the birds dipped and dived among the branches, and she found herself smiling at the haunting familiarity. She hadn’t been able to properly appreciate this place the last time she’d been here. The Emerald Graves were filled with elven statues and runes, and the dense, leafy forests reminded her sharply of her home in the Free Marches - her former home, now. Or… if Cullen no longer wanted her, perhaps she would have to return to the Free Marches after all.

She pushed the thought away - as she had done too many times to count in the past two weeks - and focused her eyes on the impossibly thick green canopy of leaves above her. _Seems like a perfect place to settle if not for all the giants and bears-_

“You should not be here alone, lethallan.”

Evana gasped as a voice she knew all too well cut through the quiet. She put her feet down to crouch as far under the cool, shallow water as possible and stared at the seeming apparition regarding her calmly from the bank.

“Solas! What… What are you doing here!?”

“I came to find you. To ask you a favor.”

Evana just stared at him as he walked down to the water’s edge with his horse. He stared back at her with that strange expression that had become more frequent during the last few months as she attempted to reconcile his sudden appearance in the Graves. He’d made the journey from Skyhold by himself to ask her a favor? Her brain slowly processed the information as he stood there staring at her with those eyes. Piercing eyes, one might call them. Despite her earlier thoughts on the matter, she suddenly became very aware of her almost nakedness under the water and thanked the Creators she’d followed Josie’s instructions.

“O-of course, lethallin. You only have to ask.”

Solas crouched down to disturb the pool of water with his hand. Ripples waved outward and toward her as he spoke. The tiny waves approached and lapped against her skin in what felt like some sort vicarious caress. After a few silent moments, he spoke again.

“One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages, forced into slavery. I heard the cry for help two days ago in my sleep.”

“In your sleep?”

“My friend is a spirit of wisdom. Unlike the spirits clamoring to enter our world through the rifts, it was dwelling quite happily in the fade. It was summoned against its will and wants my help to gain its freedom and return to the fade.”

“Do you have any idea what the mages want with your friend?”

“No. It knows a great deal of lore and history, but a mage could learn that simple by speaking to it in the fade.” Solas voice lowered almost to a growl. “It is possible that they seek information it does not wish to give and intend to torture it.”

“Alright, then," she affirmed. "Let's go get your friend. The others are up at the camp. Let me just wash out my armor and get them-”

“There is no time. Bull's horse could not keep up the pace, and we need to get to the Exalted Plains as soon as possible if we are to save my friend.”

She paused, but only for a moment. His eyes pierced through her, and she nodded.

“Very well.”

She looked back at him without moving, and he suddenly seemed to understand. As soon as he turned his head away, she stood from the water and grabbed the clean clothes she’d brought down with her. The pants were difficult to put on with her skin so wet, so she settled for throwing her tunic over her head. His eyes were still turned downward, but he looked up when she spoke.

“I’ll gather my things and tell the others to join us in the Exalted Plains as soon as they can.”

“Thank you, Evana. This is much appreciated.”

She gave him a half smile before turning toward camp to swiftly gather her things and her horse. _Well, that decides it. Exalted Plains it is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 of Part 2 of the Revelations series - [Truths Half Told Beget Lives Half Lived](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9047525/chapters/24000849) \- is set in the middle of this chapter.


	44. In which a wolf struggles against taming

The horses were exhausted by the time they finally stopped for the night. They were only a half-day's ride out now, and Solas nearly growled with anticipation. These mages, these fiends who had taken his friend, they would pay for their insolence.

"It's going to be alright, Solas. We'll get there. We just need to let the horses rest for a few hours."

Solas gave her a tight smile. "I know, lethallan. It's just... hard to be easy when you know a friend is in danger."

She gave him a sympathetic smile as she removed the saddle and groomed her horse. Solas did the same. Then she began gathering sticks and twigs to start a fire.

"I could just cast a warming spell over us if you like."

Evana paused to look at him strangely. "You can do that while you sleep?"

"It's a spell I developed for sleeping in cold places when I'm exploring the Fade. Much like a ward, once cast, it will remain in effect for several hours. Long enough for us to get some sleep. The only problem is that the area of effect is... rather small. It would require us to sleep closely."

She looked down, and he could practically feel her discomfort. After a small pause, he started helping her pick up branches.

"Or, we could build a fire."

She gave him a sheepish smile. "Ma serannas, lethallin."

Solas merely tilted his head. He berated himself for feeling disappointed. It was ridiculous. But as the days and weeks marched on, his affection for her only seemed to grow - and all this despite the unmistakable fact that she had been claimed by their commander. He'd been surprised by her attraction to a shemlen, but he'd been more surprised that she'd acted on it. It wasn't his place to judge, though. Neither was it his place to keep her warm at night.

It didn't mean he didn't _want_ to.

With the flick of her wrist, fire burst to life between her fingers, and she lit the branches they'd collected in a pile in the middle of the clearing. Soon a blazing fire fought back the dark chill of the night, and they threw out their bedrolls on opposite sides of the fire. The horses stood nearby, dining on withered grasses as far as out as their tethers would allow. Solas and Evana then walked around the perimeter setting wards so they wouldn't need to take watches.

They settled down, and Solas expected to fall asleep immediately. The crackle of the fire, however, kept him just on the edge of sleep. He opened his eyes to see her facing him, eyes closed in apparent slumber. Because they typically used tents when traveling as a group, Solas had never had an opportunity to study her features so closely. Now, however, with her slumbering face slack and open to him, he found himself memorizing her features. The smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks that had grown more pronounced since they'd spent more time outside. The soft, natural purse of her lips. The slight upturn of her thin nose.

He wasn't sad that she'd chosen another. Not really. Even if he'd given in to his early feelings and attempted to woo her, he wouldn't have been able to stay with her. His mission was too important. He must retrieve the orb from Corypheus, no matter the cost, and she offered him his best chance. That she also happened to turn his head around and muddle his brain was of no consequence. It merely revealed his weakness.

He forced his eyes to close and gradually slipped into the Fade.

 

**

 

Excitement built inside him as Solas realized he'd never traveled this part of the Fade before. Here in the Dales, there were many ancient memories of elves and wars and marches. Although he loved seeing the here and now, the "then" of every new location was a never ending well of new memories, secrets and explorations. The knowledge of his friend in danger, however, tempered the excitement.

Nevertheless, he stood on a pathway and let the memories slip past him, sifting through the ones he might want to step into. As he watched the ghosts of scenes change before him, a snippet of a faint but alluring tune caught his ear. Memories forgotten in favor this new mystery, he turned to follow a path behind him, and the voice grew louder - and more familiar - as he approached. He crested a hill and, as he'd expected, found Evana lying on a grassy river bank, singing an old elven tune to herself. The melody differed slightly from what he remembered, but her voice rang out confident and beautiful. She appeared to be in her traditional Dalish robes, and her silver hair spilled out behind her in a halo as she absently mangled a stalk of prairie grass in her fingers. She seemed unaware of his presence, and the secrets of the Dales slipped by him unnoticed as he focused on her completely.

Solas had observed her several times as they dreamed side-by-side during their travels, but he'd only interacted with her once shortly after they arrived at Skyhold. In the dream ruins of Haven, they'd spoken of his time watching over her after she had been spit out of a Fade rift but before she'd regained consciousness. Then she'd cornered him about a turn of phrase, a careless use of the word _felt_ , and his world had shifted yet again, only for her to end by calling him a good friend - the first time she'd used the word in reference to him. Then he'd blurted out how much she threw him off, affected him, and essentially pushed her out of the dream to cover his lack of composure. He had not attempted to find her in the Fade since then.

Even now, he knew he should leave, but he always felt a little bolder in the Fade. He also trusted her forthrightness. If she didn't want to speak with him in her dream, she would tell him.

The sun hung high in the sky and became clearer as he walked more fully into her dreamscape. All at once, the sounds of summer surrounded him - the buzz of insects, the gurgle of the river and her voice now humming the tune instead of singing. She turned her eyes to him as he neared her, and a brief look of confusion passed over her face.

"It is me, lethallan," he assured her in a quiet voice. "I heard you singing and came to listen. You have a wonderful voice."

She blushed but remained lying in the grass. He took it as a sign of her comfort and relaxed a bit himself.

"I... I know," she replied. "I felt you, but..." After a moment, she shook her head and gestured to the space next to her. "Will you not sit with me?"

A slight shock of surprise rippled through him at her admission, but outwardly, he simply smiled and sat down next to her. "Certainly."

"You've never visited me in the Fade while we're traveling," she finally explained. "Wouldn't you rather be out there searching for more secrets?"

"I would, but..." Solas felt a strange need to be as honest with her as possible. He couldn't about everything, but in this one thing... "It feels wrong to enjoy the pleasures of discovering new memories and places when my friend is in distress."

"Then you'll stay and keep me company?"

Solas smiled again. It was always so easy to do around her.

"Of course. I do have some questions for you, if I may?"

She gave him a surprised look but then smiled. "I'll answer them as best I can. What would you like to know?"

He took a moment to glance around him. She had not really changed the geography of their location, only a true dreamer could do that - but she had made it still, more real. The sun felt warm on his face and the grass slightly damp as he leaned back on his palms.

"What were you like before the anchor? Has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your... spirit?"

"I don't believe so, but - I'm not sure how I would know if it had."

"Ah. Yes. That is an excellent point."

"Why do you ask?"

Solas sighed almost imperceptibly. "You show a wisdom I have not seen since... since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade. You are not what I expected."

Evana looked away from him, a slight tinge of pink forming on her cheeks. "I don't think of myself as different from anyone."

That frustrated him. Modesty did no one any good. Perhaps she truly didn't see it?

"Not in the form of your body, no. Most people are predictable, but you have shown subtlety in your actions. A wisdom that goes against everything I expected. If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours... have I misjudged them?"

Evana sighed. "I certainly don't hold the Dalish up as perfect. Most of the Dalish I know care more about impressing other hunters with a good shot or talking about how awful humans are. They care little for knowing the truth."

"But you would know the truth, even if it conflicted with what you had been raised to believe?"

"I don't know that I ever truly believed the things I was raised with - especially not after my first meeting with other clans at the Arlathvhen. When we come together, all we do is fight over whose version of the truth is ‘right.' How can we hold up our old ways when we don't try to reconcile these legends with real history? What do we have but glorified bedtime stories? That's why I tried to read as much from non-elven writers as possible, even though it eventually caused... trouble. My version - my understanding of elven history - is much different than that of my clan. And you have only added to that knowledge, lethallin. For all that you have shown me, I thank you."

It was a moment before he could respond. Her answers, her insight into the world, her practicality all clashed with what he'd come to know of modern elves. When he finally spoke, he couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.

"Perhaps that is it, then. I suppose it must be. Most people act with so little understanding of the world... but not you."

"So what does this mean to you?"

Thoughts roiled through his mind as warmth bloomed in his chest. It frustrated him that she could have this effect on him. Why did she have to be so intriguing? So unique? He wanted to kiss her as she lay there on the grass, but even at his bravest, here in the Fade, he wasn't so foolish as to think it would be welcomed. She had gone out of her way to demonstrate friendship. Nothing more, nothing less. He looked away from her eyes. Those familiar eyes. The eyes that reminded him of a time long past.

"It means that I will always respect you, Evana, no matter what may happen in the future."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her sit up slowly, a concerned look on her face. "Does... does this have anything to do with the secret you hold?"

Solas turned quickly to look at her, a sliver of panic running through him. But her calm demeanor told him he had nothing to fear.

"Yet another example of your discernment and wisdom. Yes, in a way, it does. Once our work is done, I must continue, alone, on my own journey. I cannot say more."

Her eyes bore into him, and for the first time in eons, Solas had a strong urge to confide his secrets in this uncommon elven spirit. It would be a mistake, but it was one he almost wished to make. With her by his side...

_No. What I have to do must be done alone._ Once they recovered the orb from Corypheus, he must take it and leave the Inquisition.

In another moment, her face had turned from concerned to accepting. "I understand. Each of us has a path. We may not choose it, but it is ours to walk, regardless. Mine is with the Inquisition until I'm no longer needed."

The urge to kiss her, especially now that she sat so close to him, grew stronger. He forced himself to look away from her and out across the river.

"Yes."

A long pause settled between them before she spoke again. Her voice was small and hesitant.

"I know you said you'd rather not right now, but maybe some other time, you could show me how you walk the Fade - how to find the memories?"

He felt the warmth in his chest grow. "I don't feel right walking and enjoying the Fade, but teaching you to safely engage with memories would not be a conflict. Come, lethallan."

He saw the familiar spark of excitement in her eye as she stood and looked up at him. That ardor for learning was one of the many things that endeared her to him. They spent the remainder of their dreaming hours wandering the Fade together. Solas showed her how he let go of the concrete to allow the memories to take shape around him. She had trouble with this at first, but at his coaxing and direction, she gradually began to point out slivers of memories. Solas then showed her how to focus on a memory so she could watch it play out before her or even step into the memory itself. For this first foray, he deliberately chose the benign memories. Perhaps if they traveled together again, he would let her go deeper into the memories. Deeper memories, however, carried more risk of running into demons, and he warned to not go too far on her own.

After many hours, Solas felt the tug of wakefulness. He turned to find that Evana had disappeared, so he closed his eyes and willed himself to wake. His eyes opened to see her staring at him over the dying fire, frost catching on the tips of her strangely dark lashes. A gleam in her eye and the slight smile on her face spoke her gratitude, and he warmed under her attention. But the smile faded as she sat up.

"Ma serannas, Solas. Once again, you have been my guide in learning more about our world."

"Any time, lethallan."

She tilted her head in acknowledgement, and then her face fell further into a look of concern as her eyes turned up into the darkened sky. A faint hint of light played at the eastern horizon.

"Dawn approaches," she murmured. "We should break camp."

Solas disarmed the wards as Evana mixed some heated water with dried porridge. To simplify, they both ate out of the same small bowl, taking turns tipping the bowl up for a bite. Then, they quickly saddled their horses and set out west.

They rode for several hours until the trees began to thin out and large rock formations jutted out of the ground. It was nearly midday when they finally reached the location Solas thought they would find his friend. As they approached, a purplish light shone over a small hill. He dismounted and began running. He crested the hill to find a giant pride demon bound in a small clearing.

"My friend!"

Evana gasped and turned to him. The sadness in her face mirrored his own.

"The mages turned your friend into a demon."

Solas could only growl out a, "yes."

"You said it was a spirit of wisdom, not a fighter."

He was beside himself. Although he knew he'd regret it later, he couldn't help his angry tone.

"A spirit becomes a demon when denied its original purpose."

Evana nodded in understanding. "So they summoned it for something opposed to its own nature, and it was corrupted. Fighting, maybe?"

As they spoke, a man in mage robes approached them. Solas could barely hold back his anger. If he were at his full power...

"Let us ask them!" he growled.

The mage spoke before Evana could. "Mages! You're not with the bandits? Do you have any lyrium potions? Most of us are exhausted. We've been fighting that demon..."

Solas thought his head might explode. "You _summoned_ that demon! Except it was a spirit of wisdom at the time. You made it kill! You twisted it against its purpose."

"I- I understand how it might be confusing to someone who has not studied demons, but after you help us, I can-"

Solas seethed through his teeth. "We're not _here_ to help _you_."

Evana held up a hand to the mage. "A word of advice? I'd hold off on explaining how demons work to my friend here."

The mage threw his hands up. "Listen to me! I was one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall Circle-"

He'd had enough. "Shut. Up. You summoned it to protect you from the bandits."

Finally, the mage hung his head. "I- yes."

"You bound it to obedience, then commanded it to kill. _That_ is when it turned." He turned to Evana, the realization dawning on him. "It's the summoning circle. If we break it, we break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon."

The mage became panicked. "What? The binding is the only thing keeping the demon from killing us! Whatever it was before, it is a monster now."

Solas turned to Evana. "Inquisitor... Evana, _please_."

She placed her hand on his arm briefly, reassurance permeating her tone. "I've studied rituals like these. I should be able to disrupt the binding quickly."

Solas breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. We must hurry!"

But she was already off and running toward the demon as the mage ran in the opposite direction. Solas took a very brief moment to admire her courage and skill as they quickly destroyed the bindings holding the pride demon while dodging the giant's lightning attacks. As the final binding tower was destroyed, he watched as the demon dissolved into his familiar friend, wisdom. He crouched down before his friend, holding back tears as he spoke.

"Lethallin, ir abelas."

"I'm not sorry. I'm happy. I'm _me_ again. Ma melava halani. Now you must endure. Guide me into death."

Solas had to look away. _This isn't how it's supposed to be! Wisdom must endure, not die at the hands of bumbling fools!_ Finally, he looked back at his friend.

"Ma nuvenin."

He raised his hands and concentrated on guiding wisdom to the next stage, whatever that might be. The spirit's form gradually fell away in the wind until he was left staring at the river bank beyond. Wisdom was dead.

"Dareth shiral, ma falon."

He could feel Evana's presence behind him, but she said nothing. He was again overwhelmed by how much he'd come to trust and rely on her guidance. She held the wisdom in his life now. Finally, he rose from the ground and turned to her. Her eyes glistened with tears as she spoke.

"I heard what it said. It was right. You did help it."

Solas hung his head. "And now, I must endure."

She approached him and placed her hand on his arm. Her touch burned him, and yet he craved more. A deep longing to pull her into an embrace rolled through him. Her soft, kind words did nothing to alleviate the desire.

"Let me know if I can help."

"You already have, lethallan."

He gave her a wane smile, but as he looked over her shoulder, he suddenly saw the mages responsible for this mess, for killing his friend. Fury burst into a flame within him, but he kept his voice a low growl.

"All that remains now is _them_."

The mages approached now and the same man they'd spoken to before stepped forward. "Thank you. We would not have risked a summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotected."

He'd barely finished speaking before something snapped inside Solas. These fools would _pay_. They could not be allowed to continue summoning innocent spirits! He stalked toward them threateningly.

" _You_! You tortured and killed my _friend_!"

The mage cowered before him and Solas reveled in the power. This was familiar. This was right. But the mage was speaking again. Why did it keep speaking?

"We didn't know it was just a spirit! The book said it could help us!"

Uncaring, Solas raised his staff and began an immolation spell. They would burn for this. Somewhere behind him, though, a soft voice cut through his rage.

"Solas..."

He froze, breath coming in short gasps. One more twist of his wrist and they would be gone... but he dropped his staff to his side instead. The spell fizzled with only a slight shimmer in the air indicating the power he could have unleashed on them. His voice, filled with every ounce of venom he could manage, spit out the only words he could think of.

"Never. Again. If I ever hear of you summoning spirits again, I will find you. And I _will_ kill you."

The mages turned and ran, and part of Solas wanted to run after them, to strike them down. But her soft presence held him steady. The rage, however, had not been quenched. He couldn't even turn to face her.

"I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Skyhold."

And without another word, he mounted his horse and rode away from her. She could not help him now.


	45. In which good advice comes from unexpected places

The paper crumpled under his palm as he leaned both hands against his desk and hung his head. She wasn't coming back. She'd gone to the Exalted Plains instead. With Solas. Just Solas. And the words didn't even come from her. The message before him was penned by The Iron Bull several days ago.

"Maker, help me."

The jealousy was irrational, and he knew it. He _did_ trust her. She wouldn't... not without ending things properly first. But the part of him that felt like he didn't deserve her in the first place, that understood he would lose her regardless of anything he said or did, whispered that it might be better if she did.  _It's better this way. Move on and don't look back._

The week leading up to his breakdown, to his confession, he'd felt himself slipping. The stress of the Winter Palace had caused the nightmares of torture, vacant eyes, and the mangled corpses of his friends to bleed into his waking hours, pulling him down. He'd locked the doors more than once during that week to empty the contents of his stomach and curl up on the floor until someone knocked hard enough to pull him from his stupor and get him working again. The need for lyrium had been nearly unbearable, making him shake uncontrollably - joints aching, skin crawling, pain shooting through his body. The box came off the shelf countless times, but inevitably, he'd think of her. Nothing else stopped him. Only the imagined disappointment on her face. The vision of her dismay would force him to close the box, he feet heavy as he shuffled over to place it in its normal spot. Then he'd work until the wee hours of the morning, trying to avoid the nightmares. He barely slept. The draughts were gone by the fourth day, but he didn't dare ask for more lest she worry. The only time he could truly breathe was during her brief visits when he could drown his thoughts in the softness of her lips under his, the intensity of her responses, the give of her body in his hands.

But she'd noticed anyway. She'd asked questions. And he'd been gruff and unresponsive in return. Then he'd broken down and shown her exactly how weak he was. He exhaled in a short hiss.

_Now she isn't coming back._

He straightened himself and then attempted to straighten the crumpled message from Bull. The days since she'd left had been difficult, but gradually the pain faded and, with it, the intensity of the gut-wrenching visions. He felt physically stronger than he had in weeks. When the images of his past haunted his thoughts and sought to trip him, that strength helped him stay grounded. That and her faith in him. Always her faith in him.

The lack of a constant reminder - a lack of lyrium within arm's reach - had also helped more than he'd thought it would. The strip on the inside lid of his box that carried a relief of Andraste had somewhat miraculously survived the violent collision with his door. He now touched it briefly as it lay on his desk - a reminder that he'd come through it. With her help, and maybe a little from Andraste, he had endured... this time. At least he had yet to let her down in _that_ way.

But she would be gone for at least another two weeks now - probably closer to three of four - and she hadn't written him a letter. Since her first trip to the Hinterlands, she'd always written at least one letter directly to him during her travels. They weren't sentimental. They rarely contained anything but a more detailed and flowery account of her dealings in each place. But those letters, his letters, came with pretty elven doodles and small stories and jokes and turns of phrase she knew he'd appreciate.

This time, however, she'd barely corresponded with any of them. Leliana resorted to requesting an update, but by that time, Evana had already - finally - sent one. Even Cole had sent him a brief and mystifying note. But she had sent him nothing.

And he couldn't even think about the fact that she'd _deliberately_ fought yet another dragon.

If she were rethinking her attachment to him, he couldn't blame her. He wasn't proud of his past - he was doing everything possible to atone. He had come a long way but still had a long journey ahead. How could he ask her to look at him the same way now that she knew - now that she'd seen his brokenness?

On top of everything he put her through that day, he'd forgotten she was leaving until he heard the gates rising. By the time he'd scrambled down from his loft and out to the battlements, she was lost to the mist. In his pain and weakness, he'd pushed her away, and she'd gone. He had no one to blame but himself.

But that voice whispered to him again. _It's better this way. You're going to lose her eventually anyway..._

"Commander, you're wanted in the war room immediately."

Cullen hadn't noticed Leliana's messenger, Harvil, enter his office. Turning slightly to face the young man, he nodded.

"I'll be there momentarily."

Gathering up his paperwork, he took the long way around to the great hall. As if making up for the unseasonably warm Haring, Wintermarch had been nothing but cold and snow so far. Even now, a storm roiled on the horizon, obscuring much of the mountains as the clouds descended upon them, but the bitterly cold wind on the battlements felt good on his flushed face.

By the time he walked into the war room, he'd ordered his thoughts and pushed down the doubts. He had a job to do, so he would do it to the best of his ability. Everything else was superfluous.

Leliana and Josephine waited for him around the table. As he approached, Leliana laid a letter on the war table for him to read.

"Ah, Cullen. Good. We need your input. This just came in from one of my agents still stationed in the Free Marches."

He picked it up, and a feeling of dread settled over him as the words _Clan Lavellan_ and _Wycome_ jumped off the page.

"I think we can safely say that soldiers are _not_ a good response to this situation," Josephine added. "Perhaps Leliana could risk sending her agents again, but even her own man warns us against that in his letter. I believe our best option is an ‘ambassador' from the Inquisition. I know just the person, too."

Cullen finished skimming over the missive and looked up at the other two advisors. The letter painted a grim picture, but he couldn't fault Josephine's logic. The humans - and only humans - in Wycome were getting sick on a massive scale. No one could figure out why. What better scapegoat than a somewhat hostile clan of elves camped just outside the city? He'd love nothing more than to send all his forces to Wycome, but at this rate, the elves would be dead before his soldiers even reached the city gates. The situation required delicacy, and Josephine's ambassador could provide that.

"It sounds like you've already made your decision," he observed, adding a touch of coolness to his tone. "What do you need me for?"

Leliana and Josephine shared an enigmatic look. Leliana spoke first.

"We thought you might be the most qualified to break the news to the Inquisitor. It will have to be done through letter and you are close with her... are you not?"

Cullen blanched. It must've been the exact wrong reaction. Their faces contorted into expressions of concern bordering on panic.

"What happened?" Josephine asked softly.

Cullen willed his face to remain passive, but he could feel his jaw clenching anyway. "Nothing."

Which was true, he realized with startling clarity. Nothing had been spoken between them to end things. All his doubt and concerns amounted nothing more than speculation - and possibly withdrawal-driven paranoia - based on her vaguely abnormal behavior in the days since she'd left. He clenched his jaw in defiance of his own tendency to deny himself. As much as he might not deserve her, he could not truly wish to be without her. It was another weakness. _She_ was his weakness... and yet also his strength.

"I am not the most eloquent of correspondents when it comes to... delicate situations," he dissembled.

Leliana narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced, but she said nothing. Josephine merely waved her hand at him and smiled reassuringly.

"No matter. Have Varric help you with the language if you're worried. It will mean more coming from you. Tell her I have already sent an ambassador, and her clan is in good hands."

How could he argue without raising further suspicion? He stared down at the war table as he responded in measured tones.

"Very well. I will have it to you by the end of the day. Anything further?"

Leliana finally spoke again. "The mage tower renovations are nearly complete and the mages started moving their books and research work there. Also, Harritt stopped me on my way here to tell me he has narrowed his list of blacksmiths down to two based on the samples they have sent. He thinks you should visit them both personally to make your choice. You should probably go speak to him for more details."

Cullen looked up to find Leliana watching him closely. "I will... after."

She nodded. "That's all I have. Josephine?"

"Nothing right now."

Cullen nodded and grabbed the letter. "I'll need this for reference. I will bring it back with my message."

They left the room, each with their own destination. Cullen had never felt anything like the dread that now pooled in his stomach. He must write her a letter to tell her Clan Lavellan was in danger... again. The task was daunting enough even without the prickling fear that she especially might not want to hear it from him at all.

He pushed the thought away. It was his task, and he would do it.

Walking through the hall and down the steps to the upper courtyard, Cullen's legs felt heavy with the weight of his reluctance. He was loath to ask the sarcastic dwarf for assistance, but truthfully, Varric was his best chance at not mucking this up. In the last few months, a kind of tentative camaraderie had developed between the former Kirkwall residents. Cullen hoped the bond would be strong enough to elicit the more serious side of Varric's talents.

He opened the door to the Herald's Rest and instantly found Varric and Hawke by the volume of their laughter alone. As with every other woman on the planet, Marian Hawke had made Cullen nervous when she first introduced herself in Kirkwall, especially with how she'd relentlessly flirted with him. With her classic beauty and warrior prowess, he'd been awed and annoyed by her in equal measure.

Here in Skyhold, however, it wasn't business and it wasn't battle. This was just... life, and she was even more sarcastic and biting than Varric sometimes. Just as with Cassandra, however, Cullen had come to know the Champion of Kirkwall better in the several months she'd been hanging around Skyhold off and on. He could now laugh _with_ her most of the time, even when she directed her biting comments at him. She seemed unaware of his relationship with Evana, so he was not afraid of anything she might say.

"Curly!" Varric exclaimed when he finally noticed Cullen's approach. "What brings you here so early? It's not even noon, yet."

Cullen huffed out a little laugh as he sat down beside them. "I could say the same to you, but we all know you two spend most of your time here heckling the other customers, drinking ale and playing card games."

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Beats working ourselves to death. Besides, I've been helping with drills every day and you know it. Where have _you_ been the last couple of weeks?"

Even this, Cullen could take. In the months he'd been with the Inquisition, he'd become adept at providing excuses for his occasional absences.

"Doing serious work planning an assault," he replied easily.

Varric pointed a thumb at Hawke. "You know, she could probably help you out with that, having been part of a few assaults in her lifetime."

"Fair point," Cullen acknowledged. "But today, I actually need your assistance, Varric."

Varric looked half surprised, half amused. "Hold on to your boots, Hawke. Curly needs _my_ help." Hawke snorted indelicately, and Varric gave her a toothy grin before turning his attention back to Cullen. "What can I do for ya?"

"I need help writing a delicate letter. The Inquisitor's clan is in danger, and... I am not well versed in sentimentality. I could use some advice."

Varric's face went serious instantly. "What kind danger?"

"Will you come back to my office? It's too loud here for me to think. And this is not the type of information that should be widely distributed."

Surprised by the sudden serious looks on their faces, Cullen raised an eyebrow at both of them. Hawke must have truly come to respect their Inquisitor during their time pursuing the Warden threat. She seemed almost... distraught.

"Mind if I tag along?" she asked. "I have a female perspective that - well, let's just say I don't trust you men to not put a foot in it."

Cullen nodded. Varric mocked an offended look, punched her lightly on the arm and then sobered.

"Of course. Let's do this."

They trudged up the stairs to Cullen's office. The clouds that threatened at the edge of the mountain grew ever closer, and he wondered briefly if the storm would hit tonight. He told the guards on the battlements that he wasn't to be disturbed and closed and locked all the doors as they entered the relative warmth of his office. Sitting down at his desk, he pulled up a chair for Varric. Hawke leaned her hip on the desk at his opposite side.

"So, how do you begin a letter like this?"

Varric looked at him seriously. "First, I can't help you write this letter until know what in Andraste's name is going on between you two."

Cullen felt all the blood drain from his face for the second time that day. Varric's face contorted, and he wondered vaguely if this was the "awww, shit" face Evana had told them about during one of their early war council meetings in Haven.

"Did you two have a fight?" Hawke asked quietly.

Cullen's head whipped from Varric to Hawke and then back again. _By the blood of the Maker, does everyone know_ everything _about my relationship with the Inquisitor?_ He turned to stare blankly at his desk for a moment. He didn't want to say it. But Varric was right. The dwarf couldn't really help with the letter unless he knew all the variables. All Cullen's paranoid fears and over-sensitive assumptions. He grimaced and then let out a giant sigh as he leaned back in his chair.

"No, nothing so simple as a fight, I'm afraid."

Hawke raised her eyebrows in surprise. "A fight would be simple in comparison? That doesn't bode well."

Cullen struggled again. How did he describe something he wasn't sure he could really put in words himself? Perhaps Varric just needed the facts. He knew Evana better than almost anyone. Maybe he could work out what she might be thinking.

"I... you asked about my absences... I didn't lie. I have been planning for Adamant. But I have also been dealing with..." Cullen took a deep breath and then rushed through the rest. "... with lyrium withdrawal. I asked Cassandra relieve me from duty, but Evana talked me down. I told her things about my past. Things I'm not proud of - Kirkwall, which of course you are aware - but also things before that. Worse things. I needed time to process, so I asked her for a moment. In my distraction, I forgot she was leaving the next morning. I've never missed seeing her off before - not once. And now, she's acting... distant. I think. It's hard to tell, but... well, she's been gone for weeks and hasn't sent me any letters, yet."

Varric hummed at this last piece of news, but otherwise, the two remained silent, seemingly deep in thought. Cullen didn't dare look at either one of them. He'd revealed one of his greatest weaknesses to two people who, by all accounts, would be the worst people to tell. Therefore, Hawke's quiet, sympathetic response threw him off completely.

"Sorry for the earlier jab. I didn't know. Lyrium withdrawal..." She sucked in a breath. "Shit. How long have you been off it?"

Cullen finally looked up at her. "Almost a year now. It was a momentary lapse. I'm fine now... well, perhaps fine isn't quite right. I'm sure I will have difficult days in the future. But I am better. I didn't get a chance to tell her... I... I need her to know that her faith in me made all the difference. I don't want to tell her this through a letter, but I also don't want to seem distant."

"Yes. I can see your problem, though you seem to have a better grasp on the situation than most. Men are usually so clueless." She clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I always thought you were a bit of a stick in the mud, but lately I find I like you better and better."

Cullen let out a derisive laugh. "Having a grasp on the situation doesn't mean I know how to deal with it."

Hawke just gave him a sympathetic smile. Varric had been silent up to this point, and Cullen risked a glance in his direction. The dwarf sat, staring at the floor, his hands clasped in his lap, clearly thinking through things. Finally, he turned to Cullen.

"You said she was acting ‘distant' and mentioned no letters. Anything else?"

"She-" Cullen cut off abruptly. Now that he'd had a chance to think over things, he found his fears didn't hold as much weight as they had before. But he would let Varric be the judge. He talked through all his reasons, including the dragon fight, and ended with her leaving her companions behind to go on alone with Solas.

"I know Solas' friend was in danger," he finished, "but... it seems contrary to her typical style. She's usually so careful - considers all her options."

Varric nodded. "I can see why you'd say that, but if you want my opinion, I think it's more about you asking for time than any shocking revelations about your past sins. She's trying to give you space. And knowing her, she's maybe a little scared of what you'll say if she approaches you first. Try to remember that only a few months ago she barely talked to any of us at all, even you Curly. She's still not very good at all this relationship stuff." Varric gave Cullen a significant look and then turned to Hawke. "Any thoughts from the token female in the room?"

Hawke shot Varric a dirty look and then smiled brilliantly. "Thanks for asking. Don't worry, Varric, you _almost_ got it right."

Varric swept his hand between himself and Cullen. "Then by all means, enlighten us poor, ‘clueless men,' your all-knowing-ness."

"Well, from what you've told me about your Inquisitor and the little I've been able to observe, I think she's having a bit of a growing moment. She wants to stand on her own two feet and rely on herself a bit more now that she's unsure of whether or not she can approach you. You just need to reassure her that things between you haven't changed."

Varric just stared at her. Finally, he sputtered, "Andraste's dimpled buttcheeks, Hawke - that's basically what I said!"

Hawke reached over Cullen and gave the dwarf a condescending pat on the head. "You just keep telling yourself that, darling. After all, _someone_ has to stroke that giant ego of yours."

" _I_ have a giant ego?" Varric asked incredulously.

As the two bickered, Cullen frantically processed their words. It came down to the fact that he'd pushed her away, and now she felt alone, like she had to deal with things on her own. Would she return to the way she'd been when she first joined them? Close them out of her life? Close _him_ out of her life?

Maker's breath, he'd failed her. He raised his fingers to his temples, trying to massage away the beginnings of a headache. Hawke's hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts.

"Don't worry so much, Cullen. We heroes all have to go through something like this sooner or later. Friends - and lovers - are necessary. We should trust them and let them help us with our burdens, but we should never use them as a crutch... Unless that friend is Varric, in which case," she raised her hand to about Varric's height on her body, "he's just about the right height for it."

"Pretty words for a walking disaster," Varric quipped. Hawke scrunched up her nose and narrowed her eyes at him, but Varric ignored her and turned back to Cullen. "Regardless, we need to get this letter written and off to her as soon as possible. Has Scout Harding been sent to the Exalted Plains already?"

Cullen nodded, glad to speak of something not related to conjecture and feelings. Firm facts were much easier.

"Yes, and she has likely arrived, though we haven't heard from her yet. We expect to today. She'll set up a forward camp and send out scouts to find the Inquisitor and her companions as soon as she arrives."

Varric grunted. "Good. Now, tell us about what's going on with her clan."

Cullen passed the letter from Leliana's agent to Varric. "It's all here. Josephine is sending an ambassador, but the situation is tenuous. I don't wish to frighten Evana, but I also don't want to give her false hope that everything will be well."

Varric skimmed the letter and then handed it to Hawke. "Well, we've got a lot to cover in one letter. Let's get started."

They worked for over an hour, but by the time Varric and Hawke left his office, Cullen was satisfied that it was as good as it could be under the circumstances. Varric had encouraged him to be more forthcoming about his... feelings, but Cullen could only bring himself to let her know he would like to speak with her when she returned. He's also felt it necessary to write in a postscript - as she had all those months ago - explaining that he'd had a little help writing the letter. He wasn't about to pretend he'd suddenly gotten good at all this. Even though he still had his doubts, he already felt less discouraged, and most of that was because of Varric and Hawke. Hawke in particular had given him much to think about - the Champion might be the only person in Skyhold who truly understood the pressures Evana faced.

Once again, the strong urge to give Evana something - to show her how he felt - washed over him. But he had nothing. Templars never had much to begin with, but after Haven, even the little he'd collected since leaving the Order had been burned or buried. A trunk full of clothing and letters wasn't really much to lament - except for the loss of _her_ letters. Perhaps he could commission something? He must speak with Harritt about the additional blacksmith anyway. Perhaps the man would have some ideas about what she might like.

Shoving the letter in his mantle, Cullen walked across the bridge to Solas' empty office. The apostate elf's murals now stretched across half of the rotunda. Evana's many deeds were painted there in detail, and he felt a surge of awe as he paused to remember the events in each scene. She had accomplished so much. No one could question now why they'd made her their leader.

Cullen climbed the stairs up to Leliana's rookery. She wasn't there, so, he laid the letter on her desk and headed for the Undercroft. He found Harritt leaning over the bellows, fanning the giant forge. In spite of the frigid weather and the giant hole in the side of the room, the forge kept the room at a nearly oppressive temperature. As he approached the smith, a thin sheen of sweat formed on his brow. A vague wave of dizziness hit him and then subsided.

"Harritt, Leliana said you wished to discuss the blacksmith situation with me."

Harritt turned, a frown pulling his lips down and creasing his brow. "Eh? Oh, Commander! Yes. Give me a moment, will you?"

"Of course."

Cullen left the smith to his work and wandered around the Undercroft until he came upon Dagna, Skyhold's new arcanist, working on a rune. "Good afternoon, Dagna."

Clearly absorbed in her work, Dagna jumped at the sound of Cullen's voice. "Oh! Hi, Commander! So good to see you!"

"I apologize. I didn't mean to startle you."

"Oh, no! Well, yeah... but it's fine."

Her happy tone always unnerved him a bit, and he was unsure of what else to say. Harritt wasn't ready for him, though, so he asked the first question that popped into his head.

"How are you enjoying life at Skyhold?"  
  
Dagna gave him a great grin. "Never a dull moment here, that's for sure. I'm so happy to be here and working with such an amazing team of people. Also, the work is fascinating." She held up a tiny, red shard in her gloved hand. "This stuff... it's just crazy. And weird."

Cullen had felt a little woozy as he approached, but he'd assumed it was the terrifying drop only ten feet to his right. Now, he knew why his stomach lurched and why perspiration soaked through his under tunic. A faint, twisted humming wound its way to his ears.

"Right. Red lyrium. Please be careful. It's very dangerous."

The chipper dwarf nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, absolutely! It's dangerous enough handling the raw form of normal lyrium, let alone this strange stuff. I'll certainly be careful. It's still fascinating, though. Still trying to figure out what makes it _red_."

At her words, the dizziness returned, so Cullen merely bowed in response and made a hasty retreat. He'd known she was working with it - trying to find weaknesses to exploit - but seeing it was different. He shuddered when he thought of what might have been... _If I hadn't accepted Cassandra's offer, would I be a red templar by now?_

Harritt waved at him from his workbench. "Commander, I'm ready."

Cullen walked around the forge and stood in front of the man, who had turned around to grab a couple of samples off his bench. Turning back, he presented two pieces of armor for Cullen to review.

"These are the best two, Commander. I'll admit they're both mighty fine pieces - nearly as good as what we've got here. Both smiths are reputable and hardworking, and both are within a few-day's journey of here. I think the only thing left is to visit ‘em both and form an opinion of the smiths themselves. Nothing like an in-person visit from the Commander of the Inquisition forces."

"Where are they from?"

Harritt handed him a sleeve and vambrace. "This piece is from a smith in West Hill, up near the Storm Coast. The details are fine and strong, no chinks or weaknesses, and he comes highly recommended by soldiers as far away as Denerim."

Cullen worked the pieces and nodded. It was strong and the pieces moved smoothly around each other. After a moment, Harritt took that piece and handed him the second piece - a full cuirass.

"This one is a fine specimen as well. The breastplate is solid and barely shows the beating we gave it. You can see, no cracks and nice coverage all the way 'round. Made down south, from a smith in Honnleath."

Cullen broke into a surprised half-smile. "Ah."

"Know him?"

Cullen admired the piece and then handed it back to Harritt. "Not the blacksmith, no, but my family is originally from Honnleath."

"Well, then, it's a good excuse to visit home, then, eh?"

"Well... my family moved to South Reach more than ten years ago - during the Blight - so I doubt if I know anyone in the area anymore."

Harritt tilted his head and regarded Cullen curiously. "Still, mightn't there be some familiar places you could visit?" The smith turned to place the cuirass on his bench before adding, "You should take the Inquisitor with you."

Cullen shifted on his feet, his mouth opening before he could consider his words. "Uh... what?"

"She's a mite obsessed when it comes to crafting and forging," he explained as he arranged a few things on his work table. "She'd love to visit the blacksmiths. And you could show her a place or two around Honnleath while you're there."

Even without Harritt's direct gaze, Cullen's face blazed with heat, and he couldn't blame the forge for that. But he also couldn't deny that Harritt's words had merit. After all they'd been through, perhaps a few days away would give him and Evana time to focus on something other than imminent doom. That is, if she still _wanted_ to go anywhere with him.

"Ah, yes... perhaps you're right. I will ask if she wishes to accompany me... errr... us..."

He paused, teeth clenched, and gathered his courage. Harritt continued to putter at his desk as if he knew Cullen was having a difficult time and wished to give him time to compose himself.

"You seem to know our Inquisitor quite well," Cullen finally managed.

The words came out more a question than a statement. Harritt finally turned around, and Cullen forced himself to look into the smith's now twinkling eyes.

"I'd say we're well acquainted, yes."

"The other advisors and I were thinking of... giving the Inquisitor a gift. I thought you might have an idea of... of something the Inquisitor would like? Something I... uh, we... might commission?"

If it were possible, his face would have turned even more red. As it was, the added heat of his embarrassment caused a single bead of sweat to trickle down his cheek. Cullen cleared his throat slightly and tried for nonchalance as he wiped it away with a leathered finger.

"Something like a piece of jewelry?" Harritt asked rather too innocently.

A small bit of panic rose up in his gut, but Cullen forced himself to remain calm. "Not necessarily. Just something she would like. A small gift. A token of m- our... uh... gratitude for all she's done."

That wasn't the word on the tip of Cullen's tongue, but the look in Harritt's eye revealed that the smith already knew it. _Affection,_ he could almost hear Harritt say. _The word you're looking for is affection._ Cullen cleared his throat again.

"Perhaps a useful item, such as a coat or a new staff?" Cullen suggested in a weak voice.

Harritt hummed while he stroked his chin and gazed off into the distance. "I _could_. The Inquisitor is a rare one in that she does prefer the useful and functional over something grand and overblown." He stroked his chin a bit more, the sparkle returning to his eye as he flicked his gaze toward Cullen. "But I wonder... do you happen to know her favorite stone? Or do you - any of you - have a keepsake you'd be willing to part with? The thought behind a gesture also impresses her. Maker knows she talked about that garden nonstop for _weeks_..."

Before Cullen could smother it, a stupid grin spread across his face. He ducked his head down in an attempt to hide it and then glanced back up at Harritt. "She did?"

"Maker, yes! She went on and on about it. That she'd mentioned wanting to fix it up, that you'd simply gone and done it because you thought she'd like it."

Try as he might, he couldn't seem to wipe the grin off his face. _She truly liked it._ Another blush suffused his face as he recalled her arms around his neck and the soft press of her lips against his cheek. It had been worth all the distractions and disruptions the renovations had caused just for that one moment, but to know that she'd then talked about it with others...

So she liked the thought behind the gesture? He barely registered when he began pacing. What did he have? Nothing. Could he obtain something in Honnleath? Honnleath...

The thought struck him, and he suddenly wondered why he'd never thought of it before. He _did_ have something. Something he'd kept with him at all times. Something that seemed small and insignificant but meant a great deal to him. If she appreciated the thought - if that's what really pleased her - then perhaps Harritt could make it into something she'd treasure. He stopped pacing and reached into the small, hidden pocket in his breeches. There at the bottom of the pocket rested an old coin. Giving up all pretenses that this gift would come from "the advisors" - Harritt seemed to know anyway - Cullen pulled it out and handed it to the smith.

"This... this is the only thing I still have of my life before I joined the templars. Could you make something of that?"

Harritt took it and turned the worn currency over in his hands. "Wouldn't want to compromise the coin itself, of course. That's part of the charm. But... I wonder... Would you be willing to part with it for a bit? I need to do some thinking."

Cullen nodded. "Of course. Thank you, Harritt. Obviously, I understand that this cannot be a priority, but when you are able, let me know what I owe you."

Harritt held up his hands and shook his head. "I'll let you know the cost of materials, but the labor is on me..." He lifted the corner of his mouth in a knowing grin. "Just be happy, son. And make _her_ happy, too."

Cullen flushed yet again but knew better than to deny anything. He tilted his head at the man in a gesture of acquiescence and respect.

"I'll do my very best."

"That's all anyone can ask," Harritt acknowledged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What would our hero and heroine do without their friends to guide them through their silly doubts?
> 
> Hawke in particular, however, is the sort who gives very good advice... but very seldom follows it. Varric knows it, hence their barbed banter. I think I've mentioned it before, but Varric and Hawke are my number one BroTP. These two bring me so much joy. :)


	46. In which confidence looks good on her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evana reflects on how much she has changed in the past few months while kicking about in the Exalted Plains. A letter arrives that both helps and hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the late chapter! I was busy celebrating my cousin's high school graduation with my family last weekend. We're back on schedule this weekend.

Evana spent her first two nights in the Exalted Plains with a Dalish clan she'd found near the area where Solas left her. She had no idea whether he'd known of the clan before he departed, but she was grateful to have found the other elves, nonetheless. Even as skilled a mage as she was, no good could come from being alone in a hostile region. Thanks to her vallaslin and her place as First of another clan, the elves accepted her without question, and she spent hours at a time speaking with their Keeper, Hawen, and learning about the region, their customs and anything else he might tell her. She felt herself on the verge of homesickness - even this Dalish clan so far removed from her own had many similar rituals and beliefs.

However, relations became decidedly icy after the Inquisition scouts - outsiders - arrived to find her. She went through the motions to regain the favor of the clan, of course, but the veil had been lifted. Evana could not feel the same about them again. The nostalgia and longing for clan life dissipated as if it had never been.

In the days since then, she'd methodically fought through the glut of undead roaming the Dirthavaren - or the Exalted Plains as the humans now called it. Once she found her companions, Bull and Blackwall and Cole had been indispensable in cutting through the hordes. Together, they reclaimed the Orlesian army's eastern and western ramparts from the undead. A little immolation spell took care of the pits from which they were rising. The warring Orlesian troops that had scattered at the sight of the undead soon returned to hold the ramparts. Some grumbled at the news she brought that Celene held the undisputed position as Empress of Orlais, but none challenged her.

Now, sitting around the Inquisition campfire, she stretched out her aching limbs and tried to master a different kind of homesickness. The weeks of traveling and fighting off wave after wave of undead had left her feeling rather frazzled. A hot bath, a warm bed and the strong - and hopefully welcoming - arms of a certain military commander filled her thoughts more often than not.

"Here's our latest map of all the rifts we can find, Your Worship."

Evana looked up to find Scout Harding holding out a piece of parchment. Evana took it automatically and stared at it for a moment before she registered the dwarf's words. _And now I get to go do the job I came here for in the first place, close all the rifts._ The marks were scattered all over the map. It would take days to travel to them all.

"Oh. Thank you, Lace."

"And here's the latest correspondence from Skyhold."

Evana received the additional pile of papers with trepidation. "A letter from Leliana scolding me for rushing to the Exalted Plains before she was ready for me, no doubt?"

"No, I think that thinly veiled, angry message I passed on when we first arrived was all she planned... until your return, that is." Lace gave Evana a wink and then sobered. "But I think you might find the top letter to be of interest. By the writing, I'd say it's from the Commander, and it looks urgent."

Evana's heart jumped into her throat. He'd written to her? She felt a pang of guilt that she had yet to send him a letter. She'd attempt one several times already but always got stuck within the first few sentences. If only Varric were here.

But he wasn't. And she'd barely been able to get through her daily reports, let alone a letter to someone she wasn't sure wanted to hear from her.

She held the letter in her hands and simply stared at it for a few moments. As always, she admired his heavy letter forms flowing boldly across the page, even if it only said, " _For the Inquisitor: to be delivered as soon as possible_."

" _They are right. She needs to hear it from me._ He knows it will hurt you. But it will help, too."

Cole's voice whispered to her from her left. She stared at the letter another moment and then looked up at the boy.

"What will hurt me?"

"It's in the letter. He speaks it in his own words - like you wanted. Or really, the words Varric helped him get out."

Cullen had gone to Varric for help? He must have been desperate indeed to request help from the sarcastic dwarf. Her panic ratcheted up another notch.

"No, no," came Cole's distressed voice. "Not what you think. Not that. Open the letter!"

Cole wanted to help so badly, but he'd clearly been holding back the entire trip. She was impressed that he'd remembered their conversation about privacy at all. His eyes begged her, so despite her fear, she ripped open the seal and unfolded the letter. The salutation calmed her immediately, even if the rest of the letter caused her heart to drop to her stomach.

_Dearest Evana,_

_It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you that your clan is once again in danger. We received a note from Leliana's agent Jester, who has been watching the situation in Wycome. Clan Lavellan is currently safe, but they are being blamed for a "plague" affecting only the human population in Wycome. We are unsure of the truth - Jester is collecting more information - but neither my nor Leliana's agents can move without fear of triggering a swift retribution against your clan._

_Josephine has sent an ambassador to get close to Duke Antoine of Wycome and find out what is happening inside the city. We apologize for making this decision without your input, but we thought it best to move quickly, especially considering diplomacy seems to be our only real option at this time. We expect to hear from Josephine's ambassador, a Lady Guinevere Volant, in the next few weeks._

_I wish there were more I could do, but the tenuous situation has my hands tied. We will simply have to wait. Know that our thoughts - my thoughts - are with you during this uneasy time. Not much can be done from Skyhold at this time, so you may wish to remain where you are and finish your work in the Exalted Plains. However, your advisors would also welcome your immediate return should you so choose. I hope you will be able to return and assist in the decisions relating to your clan in the very near future._

_On a separate but somewhat related matter, the laborers you requested to rebuild the destroyed section of the bridge across the Enavuris River have been dispatched and should be arriving within the week._

_And on a personal note... Would you come find me as soon as is convenient for you after your arrival at Skyhold? Thanks and apologies are due._

_Your ever faithful Commander,_

_C._

_PS - Varric assisted in the writing of this letter, so I cannot take credit for any of the more... descriptive language. The sentiment, however, is very much my own._

Cole's voice was calm, and he smiled at her for what seemed like the first time since they'd left Skyhold. "The letter helped more than hurt. That's good."

Evana knew she should be more upset. Her clan faced danger _again_. And she truly did feel a clutching at her heart that Keeper Deshanna, Vash'an, her mother, and all the others were in real and mortal danger. But Cullen's greeting, final paragraph and especially his closing lifted a weight from her shoulders and made her feel as though everything would turn out alright in the end. Although she was unsure what thanks and apologies he thought were due to her, he clearly felt better, and her advisors seemed to have things well in hand. She stood up suddenly and crossed over to where Lace sat with Blackwall and Bull.

"Lace, I need parchment for a reply letter."

"Of course, Your Worship." The dwarf stood and retrieved a piece of parchment from the supply tent. When she returned, her voice reflected her concern. "Is everything alright?"

Evana sighed. "No, I'm afraid not. My clan appears to be in grave danger yet again from the nobles in Wycome. I need to respond to the Commander's letter as soon as possible. Do we have a raven?"

"Yes, Inquisitor. I thought you might need to make a reply, so I held off on sending your report."

Evana smiled at her. "That's why you're the best. What would I do without you, Lace?"

Lace smirked. "Probably get yourself killed."

Bull laughed and smacked the red-headed dwarf on the back. "Likely. Very likely."

Evana smiled faintly and walked back to her blanket on the ground. Where before she struggled for words, her pen now flew easily across the page to express her thanks to her advisors for their swift action as well as assure one advisor in particular that she would come see him as soon as she could when she returned. When she'd finished the letter, she folded it and took it back to Scout Harding.

"So, we leavin' tomorrow, boss?"

Evana took a deep breath and shook her head as she sat down next to the Qunari. As much as she wanted to run back to Skyhold, back to Cullen, she couldn't justify it.

"No. There is nothing more I could do at Skyhold, and the people here need us to finish what we started. We stay."

 

**

 

The laborers arrived four days later along with a full contingent of soldiers to fortify and hold the Inquisition camps she'd established throughout the region. Evana spent her days closing rifts and seeking out additional lost shards, so she wasn't able to check up on their progress for several days.

It took nearly a week, but the laborers eventually erected a somewhat dubious-looking wooden addition to the partially destroyed stone bridge. It served its purpose, however, and the next morning, her party crossed the river, killed the horde of undead waiting for them and reclaimed the fortress beyond. The Orlesian soldiers trapped there were overjoyed to see her. As she and her companions crossed back over the bridge, Evana looked over at Bull.

"We've done all we can here... I think it's time to get back to Skyhold. What do you think?"

"Sounds good to me, boss. We've got another dragon killing to celebrate."

She smirked and raised an imaginary glass to him. "To dragons!"

"Yeaah! You aren't going to wimp out on me just because I got you a little drunk the last time, are you? You're gonna drink with me, right?"

"Absolutely. Actually, I'd like to get to know your Chargers a bit better, too. Perhaps we can all share a drink?"

Often, she found the Iron Bull hard to read. Ben-Hassrath training made it impossible to tell what he really thought about things. But in this case, the satisfied grin that spread across his face at her suggestion was undeniable.

"That would be a helluva thing, boss. Just let me know when you're ready to get shit-faced with the Chargers."

"Will do. I'm sure my advisors will keep me busy, but I can certainly spare an evening for the finest mercenary group in Thedas."

"Damn straight." Bull paused but then added in a more serious tone, "If you don't mind me saying so, you seem to have a new sort of confidence about you lately."

Evana blushed slightly. "I do? Uh, I mean, thank you, Bull. I'm just doing my job, though."

"Well, maybe you're just more used to being the boss, but you look more comfortable in your own boots than I think I've ever seen you. So whatever you're doing to pep talk yourself or give yourself a kick in the pants, keep it up. It looks _damn good_ on you."

She didn't really know what to say, so she just nodded and smiled at him. The last few weeks had been hard, but she _had_ noticed that things seemed to be falling into place more often. And maybe that _did_ have something to do with confidence. The more she believed in herself as Inquisitor, the more likely others were to believe in her as well. The peace talks had gone better than she'd ever dreamed they would, and both Celene and Briala had credited her with that. She'd thought she would be faking it the entire time, but her interactions with Florianne had left her reeling at her own successes. She'd beaten the Grand Duchess at her own game. Maybe she _wasn't_ faking. Maybe she was truly, actually, really getting _good_ at this Inquisitor business. It was a thought she pondered the entire trip back to Skyhold.

The companions rode into Skyhold in the late afternoon more than a full month after departing. Even having missed the entire month of Wintermarch, the cold of the mountain winter cut to the quick. Despite the shining sun and cloudless sky, the wind bit at her cheeks and made her ears turn red. She pulled out a new hat and gloves and brought the soft wool up to rub at her cold nose. With a sudden pang of regret, she realized that the ones the nice woman made for her in Haven were gone - burned or buried along with everything else in decimated town. She wondered briefly, guiltily, if the woman herself had made it out. She'd never bothered to check.

As they rode in, she'd seen Cullen on the battlements and was relieved when he waved to them. With more than a little impatience, she handed off the reins to the stable hand, collected her saddlebags and took the back stairs up to the great hall. She almost took the other stairs and went directly to Cullen, but one look down at the sweat and dirt covering her body convinced her otherwise. Dragon blood, demon gore and undead entrails weren't the most romantic sights and smells with which to greet your lover. She might have also been a little nervous about what he had to say. Maybe.

She made the small jog from the middle door to her own in the great hall and took the stairs two at a time. When she opened the door to her quarters, a soft, floral aroma wafted down the stairwell. She topped the stairs to see a bath and more new clothes laid out for her. _Maker bless you, Josephine._

She froze. She'd often jokingly used the Andrastian curses and phrases, especially with Varric, but this was the first time she'd done it without thinking... in her internal dialogue.

"Damn Andrastians rubbing off on me," she grumbled under her breath, but in the next moment, she laughed aloud. "When with the Chantry folk, blaspheme like the Chantry folk, I suppose."

Dropping her bags and quickly stripping down, she dipped her hand into the water and heated it. It took a few moments, but soon steam rolled enticingly from the water. She slid down into the tub and let out a giant sigh. After nearly a month of nothing but quick clean-ups in streams and rivers, the hot water felt like a balm to her weary soul. A knock on her door roused her from her thoughts.

"Who is it?" she called out. "I'm... uh... currently indisposed."

She heard the lock click and the door creak on its hinges. Evana tensed for a moment before Josephine's accented tones floated up the stairwell.

"I heard you had arrived, Inqui- that is... Evana. Is everything to your liking?"

"Oh, absolutely, Josie. Come on up, if you like. Otherwise, I can find you later."

"If you're sure it won't be a bother..."

"Nonsense, Josie. We Dalish don't have your Andrastian hang-ups about nudity. Besides, I'm always happy to talk with you."

The soft swish of silk filled the quiet room as Josie ascended the staircase. Soon, the Antivan's black braids emerged followed by the rest of her diplomatic advisor. Evana smiled at the other woman as she reached for the scented soap on the table next to her.

"I hope things have been going smoothly here since I've been away?"

"Yes, for the most part. There are many details we - your advisors - need to speak with you about, but overall, things are running smoothly. Cullen has..." Josie stopped a few feet away from the tub and looked at Evana with a strange mixture of hesitancy and nervousness. Before Evana could formulate a question, however, Josie began again. "Cullen has been moving forward with the assault plans, but things are taking longer than we'd hoped. It will likely be another few weeks before we are ready to move on Adamant. He can explain further when we next meet."

Josie's pause made Evana nervous, but she also felt a great wave of relief that she wouldn't have to run right back out into the field just yet. But the ambassador still hadn't mentioned the topic she most wanted to hear about.

"Have we... have you heard from your ambassador to Wycome, yet?"

"Yes. A letter arrived two days ago. You were already on your way back, or we'd have notified you sooner."

"Well?" Evana replied eagerly. "Don't keep me in suspense, Josie! What did it say? What's going on? Is my clan still in danger?"

Josie sighed. "Unfortunately, it seems things are coming to a head in Wycome. Lady Volant discovered that the illness is actually being caused by red lyrium in the wells. She advises against direct force and instead suggests we bring your clan inside the city walls for protection. Cullen is... well, the red lyrium is worrisome for him, and he'd like to send troops anyway. Whatever we do, it must be soon."

Evana stared at the soap still in her hands, the mild but heady scent trying its best to calm her even as her heart beat wildly with anxiety. Red lyrium? That likely meant the Venatori were mixed up in this somehow as well. _Things just keep getting better and better_.

"May I read your diplomat's letter?" she finally inquired after a long pause, looking up at Josie with a worried expression.

"Of course. We can arrange to meet and discuss the options further as soon as you're done here if you like."

Evana sat in silence for a moment more before starting to lather a cloth. "Let's meet in an hour. There's... something I need to do first."

Josie nodded. "I'll arrange it. If you need more time than that, let me know."

"I will. And _thank you_ , Josie. For everything. Before you leave, what is this soap? The scent is lovely."

Josie let out her first real smile since coming up the stairs and began backing away. "Essence of Crystal Grace. I _once_ heard our Commander say it was a favorite scent of his."

Evana's cheeks flamed. "Oh! You sneak!"

Josie laughed as Evana tried to splash a bit of water at her, but the ambassador had already backed out of range. Their illustrious diplomat giggled like a schoolgirl and skipped lightly down the stairs, leaving Evana holding a bar of soap and grinning like a mad woman.

Eventually, she shook herself out of her foolish thoughts, worry for her clan and for the upcoming conversation with Cullen overriding everything else. She finished washing and then dressed in the new clothes Josie had set out for her - wool leggings and a long, heavy wrap dress. Tying one flap to the inside of the dress, she pulled the outside flap snugly across her torso and fastened the ornate, silverite clasps. The v-neck made by the two sides was a bit low for her taste, but as she looked at herself in the glass, she couldn't fault Josie. The cut and charcoal color complimented her pale skin and hair.

She then braided her damp hair and pulled a few wisps out to frame her unadorned face. _There. As good as it's going to get._

The walk to Cullen's tower felt interminable. Every person she met wished to greet her and welcome her back to Skyhold. Some had questions. Most were just new to Skyhold and wanted a chance to speak with her.  Usually, she was more than happy to speak with and reassure residents and visitors alike, but right now, she desperately wished she could just run directly to Cullen's tower.

She passed though Solas' empty office on the way. She assumed he was still away, mourning the death of his friend. Part of her wondered if he would come back at all. After their time together in the Fade, she'd felt closer to him than ever before. Even still, the pang of regret she felt at the idea of him not returning to Skyhold surprised her. There was so much more she could learn from him. And as much as she tried to ignore it, she _was_ drawn to him. Or rather, her magic seemed to reach out for his. She couldn't explain it further and didn't think she wanted to.

She hurried out of the room, leaving the puzzling thoughts and feelings behind her. Once she made it across the breezeway, she paused outside Cullen's door.

_This is it. There's nothing to be afraid of. Where's that new-found confidence when you need it?_

She took a deep breath and opened the door. The room was dark compared to the late afternoon light, and it took her a few moments to adjust. A voice called out on her left.  
  
"The Commander isn't here, Inquisitor. I believe he went for a walk on the battlements."

Her eyes finally adjusted to see Malia, Cullen's messenger, sorting through missives next to his desk. Evana worked to keep the blush from her cheeks as she responded.

"Oh, yes... thank you. I'll just... see if I can find him, then."

She quickly exited his office, headed to the abandoned tower - their tower - and took the stairs to the top. He faced away from her, looking out toward the mountains, so she approached slowly, giving him time to hear her coming. He began speaking before he even turned around.

"I wanted to thank you..."

She felt a small thrill as he turned and his hazel eyes fell on her. He looked so much healthier, so strong...

"... when you came to see me... if there's anything..."

And he was nervous. He raised a hand to the back of his neck, looked away from her, exhaled in a breathy laugh and then dropped his hand to his side.

"This sounded much better in my head."

She gave him an encouraging smile. "I trust you're feeling better."

Her voice sounded loud in her ears. He glanced at her and then turned his head to the side again as he answered.

"I... yes."

"Is it always... that bad?"

He glanced in her direction. The butterflies that had been building in her stomach seemed to expand and fill her whole body as he spoke.

"The pain comes and goes, but sometimes... I feel as if I'm back there..." He turned away yet again, as if he couldn't bear to meet her gaze for more than a few seconds at a time, and looked off to his left. "I should not have pushed myself so far that day."

She took a step toward him. "I'm just glad you're alright."

"I am."

His half smile reassured her, but then he turned back to the battlements, facing away from her completely. What was this? This was the thanks, clearly. According to his letter, he still had an apology to go. But his body language shut her out. She tried to shove down the panic and instead joined him at the wall to look out at the breath-taking vista. The mountain valley, bathed in the golden light of the afternoon, stretched out for miles before them and boasted row after row of tents proclaiming the extent of their forces. His forces.

She looked over and saw him swallow. Finally, he gave her a sidelong glance before facing the mountains again.  
  
"I've never told anyone what truly happened to me at Ferelden's Circle. I was... not myself after that. I was angry. For years, that anger blinded me. I'm not proud of the man that made me. The way I saw mages... I'm not sure I would have cared about you, and the thought of that sickens me." He glanced at her again. "Now I can put some distance between myself and everything that happened. It's a start."

He'd.... never told _anyone_ before? _She_ was the first person he'd told about the horrible things that happened to him? An elven apostate mage? It was humbling and terrifying. The hesitancy in his voice as he spoke tore at her heart. Did he think she would no longer care for him because of the person he'd been in the past?

"For what it's worth, I like who you are now."

Slowly, he turned his whole body toward her, a hopeful kind of unbelief now written all over his face. "Even after...?"

She exhaled sharply and closed the distance between them in two steps. Gripping his upper arms, she looked directly into his eyes.

"Cullen, I _care_ about you. You've done nothing - said nothing - to change that, ma vhenan."

Reaching up, she pulled his head down and stood on her toes to gently press a kiss to his lips. She felt him smile against her mouth as his arms snaked around her. He lightly kissed her back before pulling away to rest his forehead against hers.

"I'm sorry I missed seeing you off," he whispered.

 _Ah, finally. Here's the apology._ "I would rather you get the sleep you need than have you wake up early to wave me off on a trip. I did miss you... but then, I always miss you when you're not around."

He breathed in tremulously. "And I you."

A short pause followed in which she thrilled at being in his arms again, and then he moved to kiss her cheek. His lips moved slowly over her face, pressing light kisses against her skin, and when he reached her neck, he inhaled deeply several times. After the third inhale, he let out a soft, pleased hum.

"You smell _amazing_."

Caught up in the feel of his lips on her skin, Evana let out a small, breathy laugh. "Thank you. Josie got me some new soap."

"I'll have to remember to thank her, then."

Evana let out her own hum of approval as he shifted to wrap more of himself around her. She let her arms slide down to rest against his breastplate, and he rested his cheek lightly against her temple. After a few moments, however, he pulled back to look at her.

"What about you? You have troubles of your own. How are you holding up?"

She smiled up at him wryly. "With my clan in danger and Corypheus breathing down my neck, I sometimes feel like everything is slipping through my fingers. But I've met good people here. Knowing they have my back... it helps."

Cullen smirked, his scar tilting upward and his eyes glowing molten honey in the late afternoon sun. Evana's heart soared even as her pulse quickened. Creators, he was just so _beautiful_.

"You certainly keep interesting company," he said playfully. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he chuckled before adding, "I suppose I do as well."

"They are a diverse group of companions," she allowed, "but they each have their special talents. It makes the Inquisition stronger as a whole."

Cullen pulled her against him again and hummed his agreement. After another short pause, he added tentatively, "Did- did the trip go alright? I mean, I read your reports, but did you feel... entirely yourself?"

Evana tried to understand his meaning. Was he asking about her physical state? Or something else?

"I suppose I felt alright most of the time. It's always tiring, but I had a job to do. So, I mostly focused on getting it done. I didn't have much time to think about anything else. Bull did say that he thought I looked more confident during this trip. So I guess that's something." She gave a small, forced laugh. When Cullen didn't respond immediately, she continued. "Seeing Solas was unexpected, but the journey gave us time to get to know each other better. We walked the Fade that night, and he taught me how to safely engage memories. There's so much I could learn from him... but then he left me alone in the Exalted Plains." She laughed into Cullen's shoulder. "I sort of wanted to punch him for that, but only for a couple of days. Bull might still feel inclined, though. He was livid when they found me alone days later. Well, not really alone, but you know what I mean. For his own sake, it's probably good that Solas wasn't here when we got back."

"Yes."

Evana was a little surprised at the low growl in Cullen's voice and looked up at him tentatively. "I take it you have a problem with his actions as well?"

"I certainly wouldn't leave a companion to fend for themselves in a hostile region simply because I was broken up about the loss of another friend. That seems like the best way to lose two friends instead of just the one."

She hadn't really thought of it that way, but it made sense. "I guess he figured I was skilled enough to make it a day or two until I found my companions or the Inquisition soldiers. Luckily, the Dalish clan was nearby."

Cullen hummed, this time clearly in disapproval, and pulled her closer. Even after months proving herself as the dangerous, capable and all-important Herald of Andraste, it still amused her how protective some of her companions could be. Cullen had double the reason, she supposed.

"How did you... feel, being among the Dalish once more?"

His question seemed innocent, but she could sense the deeper meaning behind it. She carefully formed her words to be as reassuring as possible.

"It was nice at first. They were welcoming, and I enjoyed being among them again. But when the Inquisition scouts arrived, I was reminded of all the reasons I never felt truly at home with my clan. It certainly made me appreciate all the friends I've made here."

His voice came soft and hesitant as his lips rested against her temple. "What do you mean?"

She shrugged as she leaned against him. "I don't know. I understand why the Dalish are that way - I suppose I used to be that way, too - but almost from the beginning, I've felt freer, more at home with the Inquisition than I ever did with my clan. Do you remember back in those first days at Haven when you found me in the tree?"

"Yes. I remember," Cullen affirmed quietly.

"I was up in that tree, pretending to get away, but even then I felt it - the freedom to learn and grow as I'd never been able to with my clan." She shrugged again. "I suppose the Inquisition has become a home for me. If we win this... I mean, _when_ we defeat Corypheus... I don't know what I'll do. My clan is in danger, which makes things more difficult, but even if we all make it through this and they would allow me to return - which is doubtful - I don't really want to."

Cullen pulled back, so she looked up at him. His brow furrowed in concentration, and his eyes searched hers. For what, she couldn't tell, but the intensity of his gaze disconcerted her. They had only been together a short time now, and she knew he wanted to take things slowly - try to get this right. But did that mean for good... or only for as long as the Inquisition kept them together? She gave an awkward laugh and glanced away before looking at him again.

"Sorry. That sounds strange. We have a lot to deal with before that happens, don't we? Speaking of which, your messenger is in your office to let you know I've called for a war council meeting in a few minutes."

He smiled, pulled her close and sighed into her hair. "Then we'll go in a few minutes."

"No arguments here."

Creators, she had missed this. Enjoying his company. Being in his arms. She felt valued and safe here with him. And there was a kindredship, too. He was a little broken, just like her. He was trying to be a better person, just like her.

Suddenly, Evana felt something pelt her in the back of the head. Then a riotous giggle. She and Cullen flew apart, and Evana turned to find Sera's head popping out from the stairway to launch something else at them. Cullen reached out and caught whatever it was right before it hit her in the face. His look of confusion mirrored her own as he opened his hand to find it contained a tiny, shriveled fruit.

 _Raisins_.

Cullen jerked a little and his eyes snapped shut as another raisin hit him on the cheek. He opened them again and gave Evana a long-suffering look.

"Cully and Inky sitting in a tree, f-u-c-"

"Sera!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 8 & 9 of Part 2 of the Revelations series - [Truths Half Told Beget Lives Half Lived](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9047525/chapters/24303699) \- are set from chapter 43 through the first half of chapter 46.
> 
> I am SO EXCITED and also SCARED y'all. Next chapter is my first chapter from Sera's POV. It might be my only one with her because I honestly still feel that I don't really understand her as a character. However, I have some fun and funny things planned, so hopefully it will be enjoyable even if it's not quite as in character as I would wish.


	47. In which the prankster needs a favor

Sera giggled uncontrollably when Cullen and Quizzy both shouted her name in unison. Sera popped her head up and threw another handful of raisins at them both.

"What? It's not like you two are friggin' shy about it, are you? Inky's got a nice big bed. That's more comfy than a stone wall up your arse, innit."

Inky glared at her. "Sera, I'm going to kick your 'arse' all the way to the Western Approach and back!"

Sera giggled again at the two bright red faces glaring at her. "Catch me first!"

The Inquisitor had started running for her, so Sera slid down the stairs as fast as her roguish legs could take her. She heard the clatter of boots on the wooden stairs above, but Sera cackled again in triumph. She'd already reached the bottom of the tower. As she reached for the door, however, she felt a sudden smack in the arse with what felt like a block of ice. She turned to find her pants covered in ice. She shrieked, and then shook her fist at the elf glaring at her from the opening to the floor above.

"Why you little mage-y, elf-y...!! With your friggin' creepy magic shite! If you wasn't the Quizzy-"

"You'd what? Throw more raisins at me?" came a voice from above as Quizzy began moving for the stairs.

"Gah!"

Sera opened the door and turned to throw a lewd gesture as the Inquisitor appeared at the top of the final staircase. Not about to stick around to see what else Inky had up her sleeve, she ran across the battlements, through the next tower and down the stairs to the upper courtyard. When she reached the tavern door, she turned to look up at the battlements.

"Be prepared, Sera. This means war!"

Sera just laughed and pounded her chest with her fist. "Bring it!"

She saw the Inquisitor fighting to keep a smile off her face and only just succeeding before turning back the way she came. Sera put a hand to her backside and tried to rub her pants unfrozen.

"No use in this blasted cold weather. To the tavern!"

She spoke to no one in particular, and no one looked up. Everyone seemed used to her antics and habits now. She'd made quite a few people uncomfortable in the beginning, but the more she wandered amongst them, the more they ignored her. Deemed her harmless, she reckoned. _Damn annoying. Have to do something about that. Gotta keep 'em on their toes._

Storming into the tavern, she yelled at Cabot for a drink. He yelled back to keep her pants on. She sniggered at the irony of the surly bartender's words, considering her predicament, as she looked around the tavern. The Iron Bull and his Chargers lounged in the corner with the fire, so she took her mug and plopped down on the hearth. Bull's laughter caught her ear.

"What happened to you, Buttercup?"

She scowled at him. "Nuthin'. Quizzy just couldn't take a joke."

Bull laughed even harder. "So she froze your ass? That's hot! ... Or cold in this case. But what did you do to rile her up?"

At his question, her face brightened and a crass giggle bubbled out of her lips. "Pelted 'em with raisins. Good for a laugh, too, right up to the arse freezing. Didn't know she could do a baby freeze. Little baby freeze, right in the bum."

"You were pelting her with raisins? Ass-freezing seems like a bit of an overreaction."

"Didn't say _her_ , did I? Said _'them_.' Her and her Cully-wully... Cullen-wullen? Dunno which name is better."

Bull's roar of laughter turned every head in the tavern. "You didn't! Ahhhhahahaha! What I wouldn't give to have seen their faces."

The Chargers had gathered around and were laughing, too. _This is right good fun._ Sera grinned and took a swig of her ale. Wiping her hand over her mouth, she leaned in as if imparting an important secret.

"Red. Red faces. And that disapproving look. You know the one."

Sera gave her best impersonation of Cullen's disapproving face in between gasps for air. Her crowd laughed even harder. Bull finally managed to draw enough breath to comment.

"So, now you've got a pissed Inquisitor _and_ a pissed Commander to deal with."

Sera just shrugged. "Who gives a nug's arse? Got my raisins, don't I? If they wanna snog in front of the world, they get raisins."

A pause in the conversation allowed Sera to reach back and check her bum. It was mostly thawed at this point, but now dampness permeated her breeches. No good trying to change out of wet leather breeches. She should know. She resigned herself to a few more ales and the company of the chargers. _Not a bad way to spend an evening, actually._ Bull took a long swig of his ale before turning to Sera again.

"So, while I've got you here, I've been coming up with battle tactics for everyone. For you, I'm thinking the next time we're out and run into a line of enemies, I'll pick you up and _throw_ you."

Sera scowled her displeasure at the idea. "Get off."

Bull waved his hands in front of him as if that could convince her his plan wasn't shite. "No! This could work! I loft you over the front rank, and you land behind them to flank ... mayhem ensues."

Sera shook her head in disgust. "I can't fly, you daft tit!"

Bull scooted a little closer to her his eyes shining with excitement. "But think of the mayhem, Sera. _Mayhem!_ "

"Hmmmm... I'd get a wedge-up something fierce."

"Look, you and Varric are the only ones small enough, and he's... pretty dense."

"Well, do some bloody presses, then!"

"Come oooooon, Sera. Just think about it."

Sera shook her head vehemently. "Not on your life. I got enough to deal with... hey!" Sera's eyes widened, and then her face split into a wicked grin. "I bet Quizzy's light enough for your daft toss and flank game!"

"Yeah, but she's a mage, so it'd be a different kind of attack. Plus... Cullen."

"Pfffft, don't worry about tight-britches. Got a plan to get that stick out from up his arse." She laughed wickedly and several of the Chargers glanced nervously in her direction as she muttered under her breath, "Oh, yes. Bees. There will be bees."

"Juuust think about it, ok?"

Sera shot Bull a skeptical look. No way was she gonna to let that beast throw her anywhere.

"This how you plan to start that Qun rubbish where you try to convert me?"

Bull laughed again, this time for a long while. He finally wiped his eyes and took a drink. Looking up, he met her narrowed eyes.

"Uh, no."

"What's so funny?"

Bull shook his head. "You, uhh... you aren't really viddathari material."

"What's that mean? I can be a videe... vivi... one of those things. Bloody good one, too."

He just shook his head and turned to respond to one of his people. Sera pouted by the fire. Her pants were still wet, so she stayed planted and occasionally shot irritated glances at Bull. A few minutes later, she drained her mug of ale and waddled over for another mug. She waddled back to find her wet bum imprint in the hearth. Sitting down in a slightly different spot, she shot a death look at Bull, daring him to make a comment, and took a long swig of ale.

Bull sighed. "I'm just trying to give you more of the element of surprise. You're really good with your bow is all I'm saying. You lay down solid cover fire."

She pointed two fingers at her face. "Two eyes. Helps, yeah? I'd like to keep 'em. And my feet on the ground."

Bull raised his hands in defeat. "Alright. Fine. But I still think it would be a good idea."

"Shut it."

Bull snorted into his mug, and Sera stuck her tongue out at him before draining her second mug in one go. She felt a bit dryer now, and she only had to get up the stairs to her room. The walk up the stairs went slowly, and she could see the creepy spirit boy in his usual spot on the level above. She hurried to her room, closed the door firmly, and immediately changed into a dry set of breeches. Shuddering, she wondered briefly whether the thing had taken up residence in the tavern simply to torture her. It was creepy enough being surrounded by so many mages. Weirdo boy was just the icing on the cookie. And she _hated_ cookies. _Pie's where it's at._

But here, with the Inquisition, she could fight for the little people. Here, she could kill the baddies. Here, she could follow the sweet-faced, bit-too-elfy-but-still-alright Inquisitor - the one who gave Sera pies for following her into dank holes.

"Mmmm... piiiiie," she breathed as she pulled a blanket around her.

She flopped on her cushioned window seat that also served as her bed and let out a huge sigh. The newest correspondence from the other Red Jennies sat on the table - a "gift" from Leliana. She reached for the stack and flipped through a few before stopping on a particular note.

"Shitefuckingbloodyhellbastardarseholes!"

Cole suddenly appeared before her, and she let out a piercing shriek before screaming, "What fucking fuck are you doing in here!? Don't come near me, weirdie! Get out! Get oooooout!"

"Ask the Inquisitor for help. She'll help."

"I swear on Andraste's tits, if you don't get out of here-"

The spirit left as suddenly as it had appeared, and suddenly Sera looked around, confused. What just happened? Was someone just talking to her? Doing a whole body shake, Sera looked back at the note. The anger boiling near the surface, the anger she remembered overflowing a few moments ago, seemed contained now with a thought.

She'd ask Quizzy to help her get back at these piss-head nobles - fat-heads as Quizzy called them - who were making life miserable for the little people. Inky cared about the little people. Sera had seen that as they went through towns and villages helping the less fortunate.

"She'll be coming 'round for a 'visit' soon enough. She'll wanna give me a proper set down for the raisins. Then, I'll ask her to march Cully-Wully's troops through the city and scare those ass wipes into good behavior."

With her plan in place, Sera settled more comfortably on her cushions and began responding to the notes as she waited for the Inquisitor to arrive. At dusk, she heard an elfy knock on her door.

"It's open, yeah?" Sure enough, her Inky-ness walked through the door. Sera popped up and started in immediately. "So, sorry for interrupting you and your Cullen-Wullen. Your Cully-Wully? Still working on the pet name. I get it, though. Lots of men under him. Needs a woman over him. Because... positions."

The Inquisitor's face turned bright red. "Sera! We're not... I mean, we haven't..." She let out a frustrated huff. "If you're so concerned with our... relationship, the best thing you can do is leave us alone. We get precious little time together as it is."

"Haven't done the deed, yet? Well, well! Have to see what we can do to loosen up ser tight-britches. Lady in your shoes needs a little release - or a _big_ one if you know what I mean?"

The Inquisitor had turned increasingly bright shades of red throughout Sera's speech. She finally held up a hand.

"Sera, please. Do _not_ try to... loosen up the Commander. He is fine. I'm fine. And _no more raisins_."

Sera drew an X with her finger over her heart. "I swear on Andraste's holy underpants."

"You're crossing your fingers behind your back, aren't you?"

"No. Maybe. Yeah. But hey, I have an 'Inquisitor favor' to ask. Just a little thing, really. A little march-around for some of your people. It's nothing for you, right?"

"Seriously? You're asking me for a favor after you interrupted... you pelted me with dried fruit not an hour ago?"

"Yeah? What of it? You two weren't doin' nothing anyway. Just _standin'_ there."

The nonplussed look on Inky's face was rich. "I... don't even..." She closed her eyes and sighed, a look of defeat passing over her face. "Alright. Let's hear what you've got."

"Knew you'd cave. It's a Red Jenny thing. I got a tip that some noble stiffs are arguing over Verchiel. Land squabble. They're gettin' little people beat up, so I need you to go to your big table and send some people to walk through town."

Inky narrowed her eyes. "Just walk through?"

"Yeah, just walk through. Easy, right?"

"Who's asking for this?"

Sera let her frustration show in her voice a bit. " _I'm_ asking, because I heard people complaining - I got a note from normal angry people sick of being in the middle. See, when nobles fight, it's not them. It's their little people stuck in the middle. It's like a polite war, so no one pays attention. But if _you_ march through, the people up top feel threatened, too. Stuff like this is always happening. Good sovereigns to be made if you're one of the few who notice."

Evana nodded. "I'm with you, but I need to justify this to the advisors, too... that sending troops is worth Cu- the Commander's time. What's in this for the Inquisition?"

"Well, nobles think everyone is out to get them, so when your helmets march through, both sides'll think the other's your ally. Both get scared. Both make deals. Worst case, you get a little bump among the people just because they see you active. Can't promise anything, but _something_ will happen. Just like always."

"Alright, Sera. I'll have someone look into it."

Sera giggled. "It's fun, right? Being important without doing a thing? Well, not much of a thing. Not everything has to be torn skies and ancient arseholes. Every little thing makes a difference somewhere."

Sera saw the Inquisitor try - and fail - to hold back a grin. "Yes... well, the little things are certainly important. We can't lose sight of them-"

"Or we get too big for our breeches!"

"Something like that, yes."

Sera gave the Inquisitor a sly look, but only said, "Right, well, something else you wanted to talk about?"

"No, no. That's all for now. I'm sure I'll have more information for you in a few days. Good evening, Sera."

"Night, Inky."

 _Not bad for an elfy elf._ Sera plopped back down on her bed and grabbed some other letters. Answering letters was not her idea of a great evening, but she needed more information on a problem Varric was having. She wanted to get to it before he could. Her friends were better than his dwarf mercenaries any day. And Quizzy was taking care of the little people. All was right in the...

"Aw, shite!"

Sera flew off her bed and ran back down the stairs.

"Hey, big guy!"

Bull, who was now several mugs further into his evening, looked up with a wide eye. She gave him a wicked grin.  
  
"You're not _throwing_ piss, but I could ride on your shoulders, yeah? You run and hit, I shoot."

Bull rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. You standing or sitting?"

She gave him a disbelieving look. "Pfffft. Sit on your own horns. I stand."

"Right, sorry. So we'd be like a mobile siege platform." Bull grunted and then nodded. "Yeah... This could work."

Sera felt her stomach growl and looked over to the bar. "Or! Wait! No! Better idea! Ice cream... in beer!"

Bull laughed. "Uh, sure. That's... not at all the same thing. But alright."

"It's probably shite. It'll be great!"

"I'm in. You're buying the first round, though."

"Shut it! Ok. Be right back!"

She scurried off to buy the first of what would be several rounds of beer and ice cream. It turned out to not be as shite as she'd thought, especially ice cream paired with Cabot's supply of dark, Fereldan beer.

And if she ended up on the roof puking over the edge all night, no one needed to know it. They could all just piss off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I admit it. Most of this chapter is probably unnecessary plot-wise (basically a set up for her prank on Cullen and to give an outside view of Cullen and Evana's relationship), but it was really fun to write! I'm already on to Chapter 48, which will definitely be important plot-wise... but I hope this is at least a fun diversion!


	48. In which the Commander learns a new chant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Evana make time to be together despite the immense pressures on their time.
> 
> Warning for those who don't like the sexy bits - the end of the chapter contains some smuttiness! Basically, you can skip down to where the dialogue starts up again if you'd like to avoid it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness of this chapter. Unfortunately, it's likely I won't be able to update again until the end of June at the earliest. A whole lot of personal stuff is going on right now, including taking care of my terminally ill uncle and dealing with layoffs at work. I'll do my best to get out new chapters as I can, but it might be at a much slower pace.
> 
> On a separate but tangentially related note, this is the exact half-way point (in chapters) of the planned fic. Things could always change, of course, but as of right now, we're halfway through!

When Cullen returned to his office after the war council, he found his messenger waiting for him. The dwarven girl had been passing messages for him among the inner circle for a few weeks now - Leliana's attempt at limiting the number of people who had access to the Inquisition's inner workings - and he'd never seen her look quite so awkward. He pushed back his usual gruff manner and took on a softer tone.

"Malia, what can I do for you?"

"Uh... Lady Cassandra..."

Cullen closed his eyes for a split second then returned his gaze to the messenger. When he didn't immediately bark at her, she continued.

"She asked me to check on you, Commander."

He couldn't hold back the edge of exasperation in his voice. "Tell her I'm fine. Also, tell her... when I said to stop checking on me, I didn't mean to send others!"

"You... really want me to say that?

The incredulity in the Malia's voice would have been amusing if Cullen weren't so frustrated. His breakdown was more than a month behind him now, and he hadn't felt this fit since... he couldn't remember when. Cassandra didn't need to keep watching him like this!

 _Until you have another hard day... or week... or you fail entirely._ Cullen sighed as reality intruded upon his indignation. He dug his index finger into his temple as he walked around Malia to stand behind his desk. Amusement finally surfaced and bubbled through in his tone, though not without a large dose of wry acceptance. He gave a short puff of laughter.

"Don't bother. She wouldn't listen. Anything else?"

"No, ser."

"Very good. You're dismissed." Cullen sat down at his desk as she turned away, but he looked up moment later. "Oh, and Malia?"

She paused, hand on the door, not quite covering a nervous look and waver to her tone. "Yes, Commander?"

"You're doing fine. You'll get used to our little annoyances and petty squabbles soon enough. We're all human, even here at the top of the Inquisition.... Well, all of us except those who aren't. What I mean is, we're all just people."

_Maker, I sound like Sera._

"And then there's the Inquisitor, ser."

He just stared at her, nonplussed. Evana was not human, it was true. He sensed that wasn't Malia's meaning, but an appropriate response eluded him.

"Er... yes," he finally managed. "She is an elf."

Malia shrugged. "Yes, ser. But she's... more. You can tell... even her companions hold her in a sort of reverence. She seems... well... I guess... holy."

Cullen blinked. His eyes dropped from Malia's as he pondered her words. Evana _was_ more than just an elf, or a mage, or a figurehead. She inspired. He'd felt that from the beginning even if he hadn't consciously recognized it. Although if the whole world hadn't been falling down around their feet, he wondered if her quiet glory would've ever been discovered.

Something like panic pressed on his chest, making it difficult to draw a breath, at the thought of never meeting her. What would he have become? Would he have succumbed to the ever-present song of lyrium that drummed at his bones and, at times, made him nearly scratch the skin off his own body for want of it?

Likely. She shone as a beacon of light and faith to those around her. Regal. Untouchable.

But he saw her dark moments, too. The fear and doubt that struck out in the quiet hours and tried to steal her confidence. The pain at taking lives or making hard choices around the war table. The terror any time Josephine brought up judging the prisoners - something she'd so far avoided at all costs.

He'd witnessed her fear only moments ago as they discussed her clan at the council meeting. Afraid Cullen's soldiers would be too late, she'd chosen to use Leliana's agents - who were already in the area - to move her clan into the city. He'd forced himself to remain calm during the meeting, but even now, he chafed at his inability to fortify the city with troops. Red lyrium in the wells could not be ignored. The effects were too horrendous to contemplate. But he also understood how heavy the burden of leadership could become. Even in his anger, he could not bring himself to blame her for her hesitance.

As Bull had noted, however, she seemed to grow stronger with each obstacle removed and each victory won. Cullen could see the change in her. As Evana grew into her role, he knew the organization's power would grow in leaps and bounds as well. The people had revered her as the Herald. Then she came back from the dead at Haven. And now she'd managed to unite both Orlais and Ferelden - two notoriously contentious countries - under a singular cause. People _joined_ the Inquisition to fight for the cause, but they followed _\- he followed -_ because of her. He would follow her to the Void and back if that's where she led him. Mother Giselle had been right all along.

A nervous voice cut through his thoughts. "Ser? I hope I didn't overstep, ser."

"What? Oh, no. I was just... thinking. The Inquisitor is a person, too, I assure you. She just happens to be a better one than most."

"If you say so, ser," the girl allowed as she gave a little bow and headed out.

Cullen stared after Malia for a heartbeat before turning to his work. For the next hour, he pored over reports and made adjustments to schedules. When he finished one, he moved straight on to the next without pause. He wrote training schedules instead of thinking about Evana. He reviewed scouting reports instead of ruminating on their tentative evening plans for tea and a game of chess. He focused on supply lines instead of how tonight would be their first evening alone together in months. Despite all his efforts, however, his breathing quickened slightly, and his pen slowed to a stop as the scene came to life in his mind's eye.

He hadn't thought much about the progress of their relationship until his breakdown, but the thought of losing her had been almost more than he could bear. Now that she'd assured him of her continued affection, even knowing his past, he felt more secure with her than ever before. He would have to be especially careful to not become overeager and move too quickly.

Shaking off the vision of what the night could bring, he started in again on his report on the smith from West Hill. He'd traveled north first in hopes that the Inquisitor would return before he needed to make the final trip south to Honnleath. Harritt hadn't finished with the coin, but maybe he could just give her the coin now and then Harritt's creation later. He'd waited as long as he could, but the armor issue needed to be resolved as soon as possible if they were ever going to deal with the Grey Warden threat.

As he moved through the pages, he soon found himself absorbed in spite of himself. A small knock roused him from assessing his scouts' recommended routes between Griffon Wing Keep and Adamant fortress.

"Come!" he barked, pen busily scratching a note across his preferred route.

The door barely opened, and his pen crawled to a stop, dripping ink on the parchment as he lifted his gaze to the darkened center door. A small body slid between stone frame and wood door, and all thought of Wardens and demons slipped from Cullen's mind. Even in the darkness, he instantly recognized her, felt the electricity of awareness and the slight hum of her magic surrounding his body.

Magic... but not lyrium, for which he'd often thanked the Maker. Usually, all her practicing - and any lyrium she might consume during battles - happened in the field. If she'd regularly consumed lyrium, he'd have sensed it in her and tasted it on her. The sick part of his mind thrilled at the idea of assuaging two of his addictions in one, perfect form, but he quickly buried the dark thought. It was unworthy of him and an affront to her.

"Hello," she hummed in a low tone.

"Hello," he returned softly.

He carefully replaced his pen in the ink, leaned back from his desk, and focused on the now comforting familiarity of her innate magic as she sauntered closer. It suffused her and poured out from her. Solas had once said he was familiar with her aura. Cullen could only assume that this is what the mage meant. Cullen wryly smiled to himself as he pictured what his past self from even five years ago would have thought of the current scene. No doubt he would have thought the man in the chair a weak, pathetic simpleton under the thrall of a blood mage.

_What a fool I was._

Without another word, she caught his gaze as she skirted around his desk to straddle his legs. Adjusting her wool dress to allow more movement, she walked forward, placed her hands on his shoulders and slowly sank down into his lap. All the air whooshed from his lungs in a quiet gasp as she pressed her thighs on either side of his hips. A slow smile crept across her face at the sound, but he was transfixed by the sparkling depths of her dancing eyes. His heart, already beating faster at her mere presence, kicked up another notch. Leaning forward, she reached up to tenderly hold his face between her slender fingers, and after a moment of staring intently into his eyes, she leaned forward and gently brushed her lips against his. His lids fluttered closed at the contact, hands moving of their own accord to ghost up her thighs and grip at her hips. He leaned into the kiss, increasing pressure and sipping from her sweet mouth as she opened to him. A low moan escaped from the back of his throat at the feel of her, the firmness of her body under his fingers, the way she arched into him and held him close.

He was under her thrall, alright. But she was no demon. She was heaven itself.

After a few moments, her lips pulled away from his, and she gave him a seductive smile. "A woman with baser thoughts might have taken your acknowledgment of her knock in a less chaste manner."

Cullen started and then blushed as he registered the double meaning behind his earlier gruff command. Her bold words flooded his mind with all the inappropriate fantasies he'd ever had of her, and he struggled to reign in his elevated breathing. Her thighs, clad only in her wool tights, slid against his sides, and he barely stifled a groan as her center pressed against him. He heard the lust in the rumble of his voice as he answered her.

"In a _less_ chaste manner?"

She mocked an offended look and started to pull away with a little huff. He grabbed at her hips and held her in place.

"Where do you think you're going?" he murmured as he leaned back and trailed his eyes down her lithe form.

She hummed out a low laugh and pressed forward into his breastplate. "The doors are all open, Commander. Shall we give your soldiers a show? Or shall we lock the doors for our... _game_?"

Even as the illicit images flashed through his fevered brain, he sighed and released her hips, stringently reminding himself to keep his emotions - and urges - in check. She scrambled off his lap, leaving him empty and aching for her. Instead of throwing the bolts on the doors, however, she walked over to put his kettle on the fire. Glancing to her left, her gaze settled on his new practice dummy with several knives sticking out of the featureless face.

"Practicing for getting back at Sera?"

Cullen shifted in his chair, not quite ready to stand. "I don't know if getting into a prank war with Sera is in my best interest. Raisins are innocuous. If it doesn't escalate from there, I'm happy to leave things be."

"You're far wiser than me. Sera and I will be at war for the foreseeable future, I'm afraid."

Cullen chuckled. "Please, try not to involve me if you can help it."

"No promises," she replied with a sly smile.

She turned and walked back to him. When she came within range, he reached for her again, but she danced away.

"Now Commander, what kind of Inquisitor would I be if I endangered your sterling reputation?"

"Then go lock the doors, Inquisitor, for I _will_ have you to myself tonight."

Her face reflected pleased surprise even as Cullen blinked at his own forwardness. Her playful manner was catching, it seemed. Cheeks flaming, she walked over to lock the door on the left, and he got up to lock the door on the right. They met near the middle door, and unable to resist any longer, he grabbed her waist to pull her in for another kiss. She laughed as her arms knotted around his neck to pull him down to her. His mind fogged with desire as she nibbled at his bottom lip and then slipped her tongue into his mouth.

He blindly reached for the deadbolt on the final door, but before he could move close enough to turn the bolt, the door was thrown open from the outside. He ripped his lips from Evana's to find himself face to face with one of his lieutenants. Lieutenant Rozellene, to be specific.

"C-commander! Inquisitor! I beg your pardon! I should have... That is... I... um..."

Rozellene's face turned bright red as she looked anywhere but at the two lovers clearly caught in a passionate embrace. Cullen's face flushed with heat. A little push at his breastplate reminded him that his arm was still wrapped firmly around Evana's waist. He gently let her go and collected himself, but not without his hand reaching for the back of his neck first.

"Lieutenant! What are you...? A-aren't you supposed to be in the Western Approach?"

She stared fixedly to his left. "I... ah... yes, ser, but Captain Rylen sent me back to assist you with the assault efforts. He thought you might need a reliable person on this end. I believe he sent notice?"

Cullen had no doubt Rylen had given plenty of notice. Somewhere on his desk lay a missive that told him of Rozellene's return and probably even her anticipated day of arrival. Cullen usually skimmed most correspondence, but as he dove deeper into planning the assault, he'd only engaged with the ones that needed his immediate attention.

Cullen's embarrassment waned as he let his Commander mask fall into place. Rozellene, however, held herself stiffly, visibly uncomfortable with the situation.

"Very good, then," he finally replied. "Welcome back. Did you need something?"

For an awkward moment, Cullen saw Rozellene focus behind him on the extremely embarrassed Inquisitor who had slowly backed toward the fire during their brief conversation. The expression on the Lieutenant's face was inscrutable to him, but he thought it looked something like sadness. She finally met his eyes for a brief moment before focusing slightly to his left again.

"No, ser. Nothing that can't wait until morning."

"Ah. Then... dismissed, Lieutenant. Get some rest."

A mumbled "thank you, ser" followed her hasty retreat. Cullen closed and locked the door and then turned to lean against it heavily. He gave Evana a wry smile.

"You were saying something about my sterling reputation?"

A faint smile flitted across Evana's face as she bit on her lower lip. Crossing to stand next to her in front of the fire, he glanced at her before turning his eyes to the flames.

"Don't worry," he assured, "she won't say a word. She's quite trustworthy."

Evana sighed. "I know. But... poor Rozellene."

Cullen did look over at her now. He tried not to be distracted as she continued to worry her lower lip.

"What do you mean?"

She turned away from the fire to meet his gaze. "She has a thing for you, you know? I suspected it from the time I came into your office after the ambush on our way back from Redcliffe, but that look on her face tonight - there's no denying it."

He shifted uncomfortably at her bluntness and looked away. "I thought perhaps... I had wondered if she might."

"And she just saw you kissing another woman rather... fervently."

"It is unfortunate she had to witness that, but-" Cullen looked over at Evana and reached out a hand. "Rozellene is a highly capable woman. Her abilities are the very reason Rylen sent her back to me. She'll be an incredible asset in planning the assault, and despite any lingering awkwardness, I am glad to have her back."

Evana had walked to him as he spoke, taking his hand and wrapping it around her back as she leaned against him. When he finished, she was quiet for a moment before responding.

"I know she will be an asset to us... but I feel bad for her. I remember when I thought you might not... care for me in that way. Even before we were together, I would have been devastated to find you with another woman."

Cullen almost laughed out loud at the thought. Even if he hadn't been completely taken with her from the beginning, he doubted anyone else would have been able to lure his focus away from the Inquisition. Despite his strong feelings for her, she had been the one to take the final step from friendship to... more.

A vision of the reverse situation flashed through Cullen's brain as he imagined finding _her_ kissing another man - truth be told, in his head, it was Solas. The image sent piercing sorrow and agonizing jealousy through his heart. His arm tightened around her.

"Believe me, you had nothing to worry about," he murmured as he kissed her temple. Then he pulled back a bit and continued in a normal voice, "Rozellene is professional, strong and capable. This will pass in time."

They stood in silence for a moment, and he recalled Evana's words from earlier in the day - how she felt at home with the Inquisition and didn't know what she'd do afterward. It might be a long journey to that end, but if she truly didn't wish to return to her clan, perhaps someday he would find the words to ask her to stay with him... or at least tell her he wished to stay with her. In truth, he already couldn't imagine life without her. All thoughts of the future invariably included Evana.

They stood before the fire, bathed in the gentle warmth of the flames, until the kettle began steaming. Evana pulled away to pick up the kettle while he retrieved the tea pouch from the mantle and pinched some leaves into two mugs.

"Still feel like a game?"

She looked up at his words and nodded. "Of course. But don't hold back, please? I'll never learn what I'm doing wrong if you keep coddling me."

Attempting to lighten the mood, Cullen gave her a lopsided grin. "Not a problem. I'm happy to beat you at chess any time."

To his relief, she narrowed her eyes playfully and faced him with her hands on her hips. "Just you wait. Someday, I _will_ beat you."

Cullen made a tsking noise with his tongue. "Now, now. Don't make promises you can't keep, sweetheart."

She gave him a genuinely surprised look and then laughed heartily. "So _this_ is the competitive streak Varric told me about!"

"Andraste preserve me!" Cullen groaned as he lowered himself into the plush chair in front of the fire and pulled out the small chess table. "What has he been telling you?"

"Just that you are a bit ruthless when it comes to winning. But, of course, you never cheat."

"It's a matter of pride," he responded seriously, "no matter how much _others_ might cheat _me_."

"You wouldn't happen to be speaking of a certain dashing Tevinter mage, would you?"

Cullen chuckled. "He's _such_ a miserable cheater - though Leliana's actually worse, believe it or not."

Evana laughed with him as he finished setting up the pieces. She handed him a mug of tea and took the chair opposite him.

"Oh, I believe it. Shall we?"

"Let us begin the slaughter," he responded with a smirk.

For the next two hours, they played. Evana focused on his strategies, noting where his eyes moved on the board and how long it took him to make a move each time. In between, they told stories of their former lives - innocuous ones that wouldn't bring up bad memories or awkward questions. The final game took at least double the time of the first, and Cullen noted with pride that she'd picked up on some of the more complex elements. He smiled to himself.

"I'll whip you into a worthy opponent yet. Good game, Inquisitor."

"Inquisitor?"

She gave him a mocking look. He shrugged noncommittally.

"You called me Commander earlier."

She rose from her chair, walked around the table and plopped unceremoniously on his lap. "That's because I was trying to be seductive."

"And calling me Commander is seductive?"

She shrugged. "Turns _me_ on."

Cullen choked out a little cough and felt his face go warm. "Ah... it does?"

"Well, it's a powerful title. You command people... and armies... It's sexy."

She looked up at him from under her dark lashes, and his mouth went dry. If she only knew what it did to him when she looked at him like that. A small, knowing smile slid across her face. _Maybe she does know... which means she's doing it on purpose. Maker..._

Instead of responding, he lowered his head to hers, lips reverently hovering a fraction of an inch above hers. He drank in the reality of her presence - the sweetness of her uneven breaths fanning over him, how she filled him after being empty so long - like a familiar chant suddenly made new. The tremble of her lips was his instrument, the taste of her his prayer.

A first verse sang through his body with lips brushing across lips, knuckles sweeping across a downy cheek, fingers uncurling to gently cup the back of her neck. Her soft sigh led to a second verse - a brush and a light press of his lips to hers. He pulled away slightly, drank in her soft hum of disapproval and then pressed more firmly against her mouth, letting his teeth lightly drag across her bottom lip. The words to her song crescendoed with each breathless sigh that passed through her lips - _Maker, those perfect lips... everything I don't deserve._

Her hands gently rose to cup his face as he pulled away again, but now she added to the verse, following his retreating lips and pressing warm, wanton kisses on his mouth. She adjusted herself on his lap, and he belatedly realized that she'd returned to her previous position straddling his legs. He groaned softly into her mouth, his body responding to the feel of her pressed against him once again, her thighs clutching at his hips.

The fire in his gut burst into a searing flame. He ached for her chorus - burned to feel the verses written in her skin.

Breathing became ragged and broken chords in his ears as her hands fervently slid down to his armor and paused to free the clasps and buckles. He chuckled a little against her mouth at her ardor but then quickly helped her unbuckle his upper armor, eager to feel her. Her lips began a trail across his jaw as she worked the buckles of the arming doublet, and soon he was free of that as well. Blood rushing in his ears, he pulled her against him and roughly slid his hands over her back, hips and thighs. She gently nipped at his neck and slid her fingernails down his chest.

Pushing his hands up her sides, his fingers caught on the clasps of her dress. She trembled slightly at the touch, and he shivered in return as his mouth played over hers in a tremulous counterpoint. More than anything, he wanted to take her up the ladder to his bed, slowly pull every piece of clothing off her body and spend the night worshiping her - memorizing every line of her chant. He wanted to show her how much he loved every inch of her, every story and every scar.

But the last few weeks had been... tense, and a small voice in the back of his head warned him that they still had much to work through. It sounded ridiculous to him in the heat of this moment, but he needed to know she would stay with him. He needed to hear her say she was really his before...

He didn't break the kiss, but his hands moved away from the clasps. Resting one hand on the small of her back and the other cupping her neck, he slid his tongue along her lips and then into her mouth.

The breathless moan that escaped her as he trailed his fingers down her neck nearly broke his resolve. Her hands moved from his chest to tangle in his hair, and she abruptly broke the kiss to throw her head back when he slid his palm across her collarbone. He took the opening and followed his fingers with a trail of hot kisses.

"Cullen... your hands... oh, yes," she breathed.

He was rewarded by further gasps and tiny moans when he slid his fingers down further to stroke the bare skin at the v-neck of her dress. At the same time, her nails ran down his back and then curled into fists in the fabric of his tunic. With a small tug, she lifted the shirt. He pulled back from her to whip the shirt over his head, and it fell to the floor in a wrinkled heap as her hands reverently whispered over his exposed neck, shoulders, chest, stomach and finally around to his back again. Her fingers ignited trails of fire over his skin as she greedily stared at his exposed chest and hummed her approval.

Grinning wickedly, he pulled her to him again and pressed a kiss on the smooth skin of her neck. He let his fingers slide down and watched as the fabric of her dress easily parted for him. A wild sort of pleasure flowed through him as her chest rose and fell in breathy gasps in metered time with his own, and her fingers tightened against his back, nails digging in slightly. As he slid his hand down further, his mouth following greedily, he spread his fingers in the valley between her breasts and met with the gentle swell on either side. He paused, the thought finally registering through his desire-fueled haze. _She isn't wearing a breast band._

In a swift motion, before he could over think or talk himself out of it, he slid his hand inside the fabric to gently cup her naked breast. She gasped his name and arched her back into his palm.

The reality was so much more beautiful than his dreams. Soft flesh molded to his palm and seared him with her heat. She reached up to cover his hand with her own and leaned down to claim his lips in a hungry kiss. He bruised her lips in return and slowly drew his thumb up and over the already taut peak. She moaned into his mouth, arching again, and at the same moment, rolled her hips into him.

He nearly lost himself as a hot flame of desire spiked through him, and he gasped out her name. The prayer became a meditation of pleasure and torture. A new, holy flash of fire suffused his body as her center pressed into him again. He couldn't recall ever feeling this way before, but he knew he wanted more. _More... Maker, please more... I must have what I don't deserve..._

A sense of desperation overtook him, and breaking away from her mouth, he kissed back down to her collarbone. He roughly pulled one side of the tight dress off her shoulder. He wanted to see her - needed to see. Pulling the fabric down further, his breath caught in his throat at the soft curves exposed to him - pale and perfect with the dusty pink nipple pearled and begging for his touch. Bending down, he began his prayer again as he pressed a kiss into the top of her breast. Then a second kiss a little further down. Finally, he flicked his tongue over the taut peak and reveled in hearing his chant become her own - moans of pleasure and whispers of enraptured encouragement as he closed his mouth and worked his tongue and teeth over the sensitive flesh.

His hand moved down her side and lightly brushed the clasps again, but this time, his fingers lingered, the haze of desire and the sound of her pleasure clouding his judgment. Before he could think better of it, the first clasp came undone under the direction of his fingers.

A loud pounding on his door made them both jump, but Cullen held her tightly to him as he pressed his face into her chest. A muffled voice wafted through the door.

"Commander? Are you there?"

He slowly lifted his head and gently pulled her dress back in place before kissing her full on the mouth. When he pulled away, she smiled softly, her eyes full of understanding.

"I'm sor-" he started.

"Answer the door, Commander," she said breathlessly. "That's an order. Though you might want to put your shirt back on before you do."

She winked at him before standing up to smooth her dress. Cullen let out a small groan - he was in no shape to be standing up, let alone walking. He barely had his breathing under control. His shirt lay on the floor next to him, so he reached down and pulled it back on before attempting to stand. At least the tunic came down low enough to cover him. He gingerly walked over and unlocked the door, opening it only far enough to see who was on the other side.

Leliana's messenger, Harvil, stood at the door looking quite uncomfortable. "Commander. Sister Leliana is requesting your presence in the war room immediately. She also requests the presence of the Inquisitor if you... er... happen to know where she might be."

Cullen sighed. "Of course. Do you know what this is about?"

"Sister has just received a message from the Western Approach, Commander, and believes it requires your immediate attention."

He sucked in a breath. "Yes. Yes, of course. Tell her I will meet her immediately and ensure the Inquisitor receives the message as well."

He closed the door before the messenger could respond and gave Evana a sympathetic look. "I... uh... need a few moments still. But you can go on ahead if you like."

She nodded her head, and her face tinged a little pink as she rose up on her toes, gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek and headed out across the bridge to the main hall. Cullen sighed as he watched her leave and then began putting his armor back on. He supposed he should feel lucky that he'd gotten nearly three hours alone with her - probably the most he could reasonably expect until he could steal her away to Honnleath.

With that hopeful thought, his mind turned back to the task at hand. He prayed silently for good news, but he didn't realistically expect it. The only thing coming out of the Western Approach would be an army of demons... unless _they_ could stop it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, Chapter 10 of Part 2 of the Revelations series - [Truths Half Told Beget Lives Half Lived](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9047525/chapters/24635280) \- is set from chapter 46 through the first bit of chapter 49.


	49. In which reality rears its ugly head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyhold is a fortress, but it can't keep reality at bay forever. Real life intrudes and leaves an ugly mark.

Evana paused outside the massive wooden door to the war room and placed cool hands on her still heated cheeks. She'd calmed her breathless, heart-pounding physical reaction on the short walk between Cullen's tower and the war room, but she had yet to collect her disordered thoughts.

After weeks of doubt and worry, she'd wanted to make the evening lighthearted and pleasant for them both. She'd assumed he'd be embarrassed but pleased by her playful teasing. She'd planned to keep their encounter chaste out of respect for his desire to go slow.

But he hadn't been embarrassed. He'd teased right back, and she'd been the one to blush at his forwardness: _Lock the doors, Inquisitor, for I_ will _have you to myself tonight._ A delicious shiver slid down her spine as she recalled the tenor of his voice, feel of his hands on her, the demands of his ravenous mouth. He'd responded to her teasing with ardent insistence, and she found herself wondering how far things might have progressed if they hadn't been interrupted.

Which only set her heart to pounding all over again, her cheeks warming from the delicious thought. She summoned a cooling spell before throwing back her shoulders and taking a deep breath in an attempt to clear her mind and focus. Raising her chin slightly, she reminded herself that she had a war to win and pushed the door open.

Josephine and Leliana were already gathered around the table. She'd only had a moment to greet them before Cullen's heavy footsteps echoed along the passage. Leliana didn't bother to wait for him to finish crossing to the table before she started in.

"I'm sorry to disturb you both after our meeting only hours ago, but I've just received word from my scouts in the Western Approach. They've seen signs of powerful magic at Adamant. It seems the Venatori have officially begun the process of turning the remaining Grey Wardens."

Evana let her head fall forward, and her eyes closed briefly. "Good gods." She lifted her head and looked at Leliana. "Do we have any idea how long the ritual is taking? Do we have time?"

"It seems to be a rather slow process right now. Undoubtedly, the Venatori are worried the Warden warriors will come to their senses before they have enough Warden mages enslaved with demons. But they obviously don't want to rush the ritual." Leliana turned to Cullen. "If anything can be done to speed up preparations on our end, we need to do it."

Cullen nodded as he leaned over the table, his face fixed in a scowl. "Yes. Lieutenant Rozellene has arrived, which will help things along. I've sent as many troops to Rylen as are ready, and Harritt is working double time on armor for the rest. Even still, I don't think the final contingent of troops will be ready to march before... no... no, not for at least another three weeks. The siege equipment won't arrive at Griffon Wing Keep until next week. Then it will need to be assembled... I just don't see how we can speed things up much more."

Leliana pursed her lips. "What about the new smith? Have you made a choice?"

Cullen looked over at Leliana and then glanced toward Evana. The look confused her, but she didn't have time to dwell on it as Cullen responded.

"I need to get Rozellene back up to speed and started on several assignments tomorrow, but I will leave the following day to visit the other smith. If this one is the better choice, we'll bring him back with us. He and Harritt can have the forge and armory running day and night."

Leliana seemed satisfied. "I will respond tonight to let them know to be on high alert. If you can find a way to get us there sooner..."

Cullen gave a curt nod and pushed away from the table. "I'll do everything in my power."

Leliana turned to Evana. "You should know that we have received reports of rifts as well as large Venatori encampments in the Hissing Wastes in the north of the Western Approach. It might be best for you and your companions to address the issues there and then meet at Griffon Wing Keep for the assault. However, I don't anticipate a full report on the Wastes for several days, and I would rather not send you out unprepared. I will let you know as soon as I hear from Scout Harding."

Evana nodded. "I'll be ready. Anything else?"

Josephine cleared her throat a little. "Don't forget to be in the great hall tomorrow morning. We have many prisoners who must be judged."

Evana's stomach flip-flopped and then twisted into a knot. Tomorrow, she would sit in judgment of the people who had been heretofore simply rotting away in the Skyhold dungeon. It wasn't right to just leave them in prison. She knew it. But how could she judge them?

She could because she must. She gave Josie a curt nod, careful to keep all emotion from her face.

"I will be ready for that as well."

They ended the meeting shortly after that. Evana thought about speaking with Cullen, but she could see his mind already working on plans to speed up their readiness. The best thing she could do for him would be to let him get to work. However, as Evana paused to bid him goodnight before they entered the great hall, Cullen surprised her by suddenly pulling her against him. He leaned down and kissed her long and hard before pulling away to give her a small, tight-lipped smile.

"It seems as though we're always being interrupted," he murmured with more than a hint of disappointment in his tone. "I... I wish I didn't have to go back and work right now, but..."

She allowed her own disappointment to show in her face and voice even as she responded, "That's part of the job, isn't it? Making sacrifices for the greater good. We both have to do it. I'm certainly not going to make you feel guilty for giving your best to our cause."

The corner of his mouth quirked upward as he slid a gloved hand across her cheek. "Tomorrow will be a busy day for us, but... come see me when you have a moment?"

She smiled up at him, running her hand along his jaw and then gripping his breastplate to pull him down to her. She kissed him softly and then turned to open the door, looking at him over her shoulder.

"Just try and stop me."

He gave her a lustful look and pulled her back into the darkened anteroom for a final kiss that scattered her thoughts and made her knees week. A small, breathy moan escaped before she could stifle it. When he finally broke the kiss, he lifted his head just enough to reveal a slow, wicked smirk tugging at his stupidly perfect mouth. With a soft "goodnight," he backed away, his eyes locked on hers, his hands sliding from where they gripped her hips. She followed to watch him turn and stride down the hall and disappear through the door on the left.

Huffing out a little sigh, she turned in the opposite direction and passed through the door to her quarters. For many reasons, sleep would be hard to come by tonight.

 

**

 

She wasn't wrong. After a fitful night of tossing and turning and fretting about the judgments she would have to render, she'd finally fallen asleep... only to dream of the awful things she would have to do to her prisoners the next day.

 _But they deserve it,_ she reminded herself. All the people who had fallen for Corypheus' lies of power and prestige... they had traded the welfare of the people of Thedas for their own gain. She could not afford to pity them now. The spirits of those they had killed, or who had died as a result of their actions, demanded justice. She must render appropriate judgment.

So, like a good Inquisitor, she put on a stone face and met Josephine in the great hall at the appointed hour. The great, stained glass windows above the throne at the end of the hall turned the room varying shades of blue, red and yellow, causing a strange juxtaposition of festive glow and somber duty. A crowd had gathered at the news of the proceedings, and Evana straightened her spine as Josephine guided her to the throne on the dias. Despite her determination to show no emotion, Evana sat stiffly at the edge of the golden, spiked chair. Judgment might be her duty, but she had no desire to get comfortable with it.

And so the procession began... and she found she simply couldn't be hard.

The first to be judged was the Avvar chief whose son had kidnapped Inquisition soldiers and challenged her to fight in the Fallow Mire. The chief had "attacked" Skyhold with a goat, as demanded by his clan for the death of a tribesman. So, she armed the entire Avvar clan and exiled them to Tevinter. He seemed fairly pleased by the judgment, but that didn't bother her. She had, after all, killed his "idiot son."

Alexius was harder. He'd put the entirety of Thedas in danger. He'd done it to save his son, but the havoc he might have wreaked if he'd succeeded - she couldn't contemplate being lenient. But then she'd glanced at the list of possible punishments Josephine presented for her consideration and froze in horror at the hateful word staring back at her.

Tranquility.

Her façade of calm crumbled. With a shocked and disgusted glance at Josephine, Evana only just kept herself from bursting off the throne in outrage. More upsetting was the insidious voice in the back of her mind that whispered Cullen might have had something to do with the suggestion. But no... surely he would understand at least _that_ much? That she, a mage, could never, _ever_ justify Tranquility? Josephine, sensing the shift, furrowed her brows and took a second look at the sheet. Without a word or even a noticeable shift in her expression, Josie leaned in and murmured in Evana's ear.

"My deepest apologies, Evana. I did not review this after it came back from Mother Giselle. She must have made an addition. It will not happen again, I promise you."

Josie leaned back and locked her gaze with Evana's in a silent plea for forgiveness. The rage still roared through Evana's veins and made it difficult to think, but she took a breath, then another, and then finally gave Josie a tiny nod of acknowledgement.

And so, perhaps out of pity for losing his son, but more likely as a rebellion against those who would consider that hideous practice an option, she simply recruited him to assist in studying magic and the arcane for the Inquisition's benefit. He would not be free, but neither would he be left to rot in a dungeon. She saw Dorian smile at her from the back of the crowd as she rendered the judgment, and the flame inside her died down a bit, allowing her to put on her façade once more. Inside, however, she seethed.

The Mayor of Crestwood presented even more difficulties. What he'd done sickened her. But he'd done it to save the remaining residents from the Blight. Or so he said. She struggled with his judgment for some time. Josephine gave her several significant looks as the crowd began to grow restless, so she decided to make him useful. He would stay in prison until the Grey Warden situation was reconciled. Then, if any loyal Wardens remained, he would be conscripted into the service of the Grey Wardens to fight the Blight until death took him. If the Grey Wardens were destroyed, she would judge him again.

Finally, the Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons appeared before her. Evana watched the other woman throughout Josephine's pronouncements of her crimes. The Duchess' manner and words were haughty and scathing, but her posture reflected defeated. Evana wondered briefly if she dared put the Grand Duchess to work for the Inquisition, but her distrust and general distaste for the woman quickly drove out that thought. No, the Duchess would labor in the fields. If it was the only good and useful thing the woman ever did in her life, so be it.

By the time Evana finally stood up from the throne, the sun had passed its zenith. Exhausted from the spectacle as well as the emotional roller coaster of Alexius' judgment, she silently slipped away from the lingering crowds, grabbed a plate of food from the kitchens, and then took it up to the gardens to eat in her favorite secluded corner, being sure to avoid the Chantry Mother in the process. Her rage had cooled into indignation the intervening hours, but she knew she'd still chew the other woman's head off if they met right now.

As she lounged in a spot of sunlight, she reflected on the events of the morning. Barring the unpleasant "suggestion" for Alexius, the morning hadn't been as horrible as she'd imagined. She didn't feel sick to her stomach about any of her actual judgments, though she knew this was only the beginning. If they took Erimond alive, she doubted she would feel right about doing less than the worst she could rightfully do to him. And she couldn't even think about Samson. He had wreaked so much havoc. If they took him alive...

The sounds of afternoon officer's practice floated over the garden walls and roused Evana from her musings. She put aside her empty plate and leaned back, raising her face to the warmth. A chill hung in the air, but the late winter sun felt marvelous on her skin as she pushed aside her fears and anger for now and contemplated what to do with her afternoon.

She had plenty of things she needed accomplish, but for the first time since Haven, Josephine had given her the freedom to prioritize her own duties. A loosening of the leash, so to speak.

She thought about spending a bit of her afternoon practicing a few new spells. With Solas gone, she'd have to convince Dorian to join her. As she had lamented many times while out traveling with her non-mage companions, it wasn't any fun practicing spells by yourself. Or perhaps she would continue her and Dorian's research into improving their camp wards...

It was a strange feeling being able to plan her own afternoon. After having her days planned out for her for so long - first with the clan and then with the Inquisition - the freedom overwhelmed her. She still had meetings with Josephine, but after the Winter Palace, the ambassador's strict lessons had shifted into occasional "interludes," which she insisted were necessary to maintain their connection with each other as colleagues. Mostly they just discussed current happenings among the nobility over tea with Leliana. Cullen was also invited, but he never appeared. She couldn't blame him. It was mostly gossip, but Josephine did tell the most hilarious stories about the scandalous nobles. She found herself thoroughly entertained most of the time.

"Inquisitor? Er... Your Worship?"

Evana shook herself from her thoughts and looked up to see a small, elven boy of about eight or nine standing just outside of her circle of sunlight. "Yes? What can I do for you, da'len?"

He smiled shyly at her endearment and fiddled with his thumbs. His hands were dirty, as if he'd been playing in the magic-warmed garden for some time. He shyly looked away and then fixed his pale gray eyes on her before attempting to speak again.

"The others. The mages. They say you are good with growing things? Mamae didn't make it out of Haven, but she was good with growing, too. I wanted to plant her some flowers, but they don't seem to want to grow. Will you... would you help me?"

Even as a pang of regret for Haven echoed through her chest, a warm smile spread across her face as she regarded the pale-skinned child with a row of freckles across his nose that rivaled her own.

"Of course, da'len. What is your name?"

"Orian."

"My name is Evana." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You can call me that when no one else is around. OK?"

His thin lips bloomed into a secretive smile as he nodded his head vehemently. Unruly brown locks quivered with his enthusiasm, covering his eyes, and Evana struggled to keep a straight face. Standing up, she offered him her hand, and he took it, quickly tugging her to a back corner of the garden.

Suddenly, Evana couldn't think of a better way to spend her afternoon.

 

**

 

The afternoon slid by quickly as she and Orian worked the earth, and Evana placed a few spells over the bed of flowers to encourage growth. The young boy had turned out to be quite precocious and not at all shy after his initial introduction. She found herself enjoying his company more than she'd expected and couldn't help wondering about the child. She made a mental note to check up on his situation when she had a free moment.

After bidding Orian a good evening, Evana slipped out of the garden and over the bridge to see Cullen. As busy as he was, she doubted she'd have more than a few minutes with him, which meant she shouldn't be late to the interlude with Josephine.

She opened the door to find him miraculously alone and scanning titles at his bookshelf. He turned to face her and smiled as she walked closer.

"There you are," he declared warmly.

She smiled right back, but couldn't help teasing him a little. "Were you waiting for me all afternoon, then?"

Cullen flushed. "Yes. I-I mean, no!"

"I can come back later if you'd prefer..."

She feigned turning toward the door, but he caught her hand and gently pulled her back. Her teasing smile faded as she finally registered his nervousness.

"No! Please stay. I... uh... we have some dealings in Ferelden, as you know. I'm leaving tomorrow to visit with one of the blacksmiths Harritt picked out, and... I was hoping you'd accompany me. If you can spare the time, of course."

He had become more nervous with each word. Evana couldn't help responding in kind, her brow furrowing with worry.

"Is something wrong?"

"What? No! I thought just you might wish to go... but if you're not interested, it's no problem."

"Oh, I'm definitely interested," she responded, then added cautiously, "We're going to review the smith's work?"

Cullen let out a small breath and smiled at her in what looked like relief. He'd been nervous to ask her along? Curious. Was there more to this than just a visit to a blacksmith?

"Yes. Harritt thought it would be best to review both the candidates in their normal work environment before choosing one to join us here. I visited the other blacksmith while you were in the Exalted Plains."

She smiled again and nodded. He was still holding her hand, so she tightened her grip and stepped closer to him.

"Sounds like fun. So... where are we going, anyway?"

"Uh... it's down in southern Ferelden. In Honnleath."

She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips at him. "Hmmm... Isn't that where you're from?"

Cullen flushed again, but he didn't drop her hand or step away. "Yes. Originally. Though I doubt I know anyone from there anymore."

She just looked up at him for a moment before nodding. "I'll meet you at the gates tomorrow morning, then. How long will we be gone?"

He seemed to relax a little bit at her matter-of-fact question. "Less than a week. I've already made the necessary arrangements and cleared things with the other advisors."

Well, then. He'd already done the prep work. This was certainly more than a simple trip to visit a blacksmith. If he wanted to keep it casual, though, she wouldn't begrudge him.

"Well... I should let you get back to work."

He sighed and gave her a small smile as he pulled her against him. "Yes. I have much to do before tomorrow... but it seems I do have time for a quick break if you'd like."

"I'd always like, but I'm already late for our interlude with Josephine."

"Pity. You could simply skip it as I do."

She laughed at him and rose up on her toes to brush his lips. She tried to pull away, but his gloved hand reached up to cup her cheek and held her in place as he pressed a deeper kiss on her lips. Her arms slid around his neck...

At the sound of the door opening, they flew apart. Josephine's messenger curtsied to them both.  
  
"Commander, Inquisitor. Lady Montilyet requests your presence in her office for this week's interlude."

Cullen cleared his throat, his face red. "I'm afraid I don't have time for the interlude this week. Please give my apologies to Josephine for the inconvenience."

Evana fought off a grin and then stepped forward. She knew her face was also flushed - she could feel the warmth in her cheeks still - but she didn't want to keep Josie waiting any longer.

"I will walk with you if you are headed back."

The messenger nodded and opened the door for her. Evana threw a final glance back at Cullen, gratified to find him watching her leave. Closing his door behind her, she walked silently back to the great hall and through to Josie's office. Leliana already sat at the tea table and Josie raised an eyebrow at Evana as she walked over and took her normal seat at the table. The fourth chair remained empty, per usual.

"The Commander sends his apologies, my lady," Josie's messenger informed them. "In his words, he 'doesn't have time for the interlude this week.'"

Josie let out a little sigh. "Or any other week. Thank you. You may go Juliette."

The mood was a bit low at first, but soon the party turned jovial as the ambassador and spymaster traded stories of the latest news from Orlais. Near the end of their scheduled time together, Josie and Leliana began to argue over whether taupe was a spring color. As she had no opinion on the matter - nor any idea what taupe even looked like - Evana tuned out for a bit to think over her upcoming trip with Cullen.

They would be traveling on business, so they'd likely have a small retinue of soldiers tagging along, perhaps even some of his lieutenants. _Creators, he wouldn't bring Rozellene along, would he?_ No, surely not. They'd spoken about her, and he seemed to understand the issue. Regardless, soldiers tagging along wouldn't be very romantic. Maybe she'd only imagined his nervousness? Maybe it really was just a business trip.

The stares and stifled giggles roused her from her thoughts. Evana rolled her eyes at them both.

"What?"

"Oh, we were just talking about how you seemed to be off in a little dream land. Something you care to share?"

She raised an eyebrow and gave them an unbelieving look. "Cullen told me he'd already talked with you both, so you are well aware that we'll be leaving together tomorrow."

Josie sighed. "It's quite a romantic gesture for someone like Cullen. I mean, it's still Inquisition business, but he could have done this alone as he did the first trip. I'm sure he's got something else planned."

Evana eyed Josie warily. "You think so?"

Leliana cut in. "If he doesn't, he is a fool."

Evana shrugged and took a sip of tea. "It doesn't matter. If he does, I'll be pleasantly surprised. If he doesn't, I won't be disappointed."

"Well, either way, we all know he worships the very ground you walk on." Josie paused to look as her, then continued carefully. "We were a little worried while you were away. He seemed... on edge whenever we spoke of you."

Evana shifted uncomfortably in her seat. This must be what Josie's look during her bath had been about. She didn't mind talking over some of her own thoughts and fears with the two women, but she hesitated to talk about Cullen. It was hard enough for him to speak with her of his insecurities. She knew he wouldn't want them repeated, no matter how good of friends they all were.

"We... struggled with a few things, but it's nothing to worry about. Nothing that would endanger our... relationship."

"That's good to hear. Especially now that we've seen our very first round of gossip that the Herald of Andraste is bedding her military Commander."

Evana could only stare at Leliana. "W-what?"

Josie cleared her throat, and Leliana actually flinched at what must have been a sharp kick from the ambassador under the table. "What Leliana means is that there are a few rumors coming out of Orlais that you and Cullen are... close."

Evana closed her eyes for a moment. The talk was inevitable, of course. She'd known it would surface eventually. No matter how hard they tried to keep things private, everyone in Skyhold already seemed to know.

"I knew this was coming. I guess I just hoped it wouldn't be this soon. What are they saying?"

Josie looked down. Leliana leaned forward, all the teasing gone and replaced by a serious look on her face.

"That it is a conflict of interest. That it weakens the Inquisition. Some will seek to exploit it if they can confirm it. However, you should know that Josie and I are already working on counter measures. It will not have any measurable effect on our influence across Ferelden or Orlais."

Evana's heart dropped to her knees, and a ball of roiling guilt took its place in her chest. She'd known people would be unhappy, but this... They were already attempting to delegitimize the Inquisition because of her relationship with Cullen? That chain of thought led her to another, more upsetting realization. Dread crept up to take its place alongside the guilt as she locked gazes with Leliana.

"What are they saying about Cullen? Are they disparaging him because of me?"

Leliana cleared her throat and glanced at Josie before continuing. "As the leader of the Inquisition-"

"And a knife-ear," Evana cut in bitterly. But Leliana didn't lose her stride.

"-most are directed at you, of course. However, we have received a few... hateful messages directed at Cullen. He's seen them and thinks as highly of them as the rest of us. I know it isn't pleasant to hear, but we thought you should know, in case..."

"In case you encountered something like this in your travels," Josephine finished.

Evana covered her face with her hands. They were saying awful things about him... for simply being with her. She should have known, anticipated this, but she'd foolishly hoped her status as the Inquisitor might spare him. Apparently not. Even her mark - supposedly granted from their own prophet - wouldn't save him from their hate and derision for being with a knife-eared rabbit. She was an elf, and a mage, and they would look down on him as long as he was with her. She stood suddenly.

"I... I'm very tired, and I need to go prepare for the journey tomorrow. Thank you for letting me know about... the messages. If you need me, I'll be in my quarters."

She refused to look at them as she left. She didn't think she could bear the pity in their eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. Thanks for bearing with me through this semi-hiatus. Everything is still crazy - has gotten even crazier, actually - but I'm still plugging away when I have the time. I hope it won't be quite as long until the next update. Next chapter will be from Bull's perspective and will include my ever incorrigible Marian Hawke, so that ought to get me motivated.
> 
> This half fluffy, half angsty chapter marks the beginning of a few subplots that will continue to appear for the rest of the story. As always, I'd love to hear what you think.


	50. In which she gets by with a little help (from her friends)

Bull and Varric watched from their regular table as the Inquisitor emerged from Josephine's office into the main hall. Bull raised his hand to get her attention, but she didn't look his way at all. Instead, she walked quickly to her own door and disappeared through it, her posture stiff and her face emotionless. If he were anyone else, he probably wouldn't have noticed a thing. But he wasn't anyone else.

"Hmmmmm..."

Varric nodded. "Yeah. Wonder what's up?"

_Figures that the dwarf would notice, too._

"Don't know. But here comes someone who does."

Unlike the Inquisitor, Leliana made a beeline for the table where he and Varric were enjoying their evening meal.

"Bull. Just who I was looking for. Come with me."

"Uh, sure thing, Red."

Leliana barely glanced at him as she passed by. Bull and Varric shared a mutual look of surprise, but Bull quickly got up and followed the spymaster up to her rookery. When they reached the top, Bull stood patiently as she sent her agents out. Finally, she crossed her arms and let out a small huff.

"I need your assistance," she said quietly, mindful of the center opening into the library below.

"Sure. What's up?" he replied in a similar low tone.

"I'm not sure, yet. Josephine has been trying to reinstate her family's ability to trade in Orlais, but someone has killed her couriers and destroyed the paperwork. I have uncovered a few leads, but the more I find, the more worried I become that someone will make an attempt on Josie's life. I don't want to worry her prematurely, but I would be immensely grateful for another set of eyes and ears on the ground here in Skyhold. And if you see or hear of anything useful from your Ben-Hassrath contacts, let me know."

"Absolutely. Are we talking a noble with a grudge or professional assassins?"

"Everything points to assassins. I'm not sure if they've been hired by someone else or if they themselves have a grudge against the Montilyet family."

"Hmmmm... I'll send out feelers within the network. Between the two of us, I'm sure we can track this down."

Leliana nodded. "Thank you, Bull. Your help is appreciated."

Bull chuckled. "Hey, that's what you pay me for, right? I'll be honest, though. This wasn't the conversation I expected."

"Oh? How so?"

"Varric and I saw the Inquisitor leave your little tea party. She didn't look so happy. I mean, to us. No one else would have noticed, but..."

"Ahhh... yes. Well, that's something else entirely. We have been receiving some... unpleasant messages from various citizens about the impropriety of the rumored affair between our Inquisitor and her Commander. The whispered talk in the back rooms and dark hallways all over Thedas is worse. She did not take it well."

"What are they saying?"

"Here. You can read them yourself if you like."

Leliana handed him a small stack of parchment. As he quickly skimmed the notes, he found himself cursing under his breath. The vitriol directed at the Commander in particular for "sullying himself" with a "knife-eared upstart" sickened him. Some even went so far as to compare him to Andraste's betrayer and husband, Maferath, and warned that the Commander would betray their Herald of Andraste soon enough. Many more, however, were directly degrading to the Inquisitor's status as an elf and a mage.

"These people are insane," he muttered under his breath.

Leliana laughed. "Quite possibly. The conspiracy theories and ravings of sick people never cease to amaze me. It's one reason I have always strived to remain in the shadows. And the reality of an organization this large is that we could very well be torn apart from within, so it is best to keep them around as a reminder of what we hope to avoid."

"Anyone who knows her - anyone who knows the Commander for that matter - would never say such shitty things."

"Which is why it is important that she continue to travel around Thedas closing rifts and uniting people against Corypheus. In the end, we do not need these crazy townsfolk to believe in us. We need the average person and the powerful to recognize and join with us. Before our alliance with Orlais, we would occasionally receive a scathing note from this or that noble, but since the Empress offered her support, those messages have largely turned into whispers behind closed doors. The rich and powerful know where their bread is buttered, and right now, it is with us."

"I guess." Bull narrowed his one good eye. "In that spirit, perhaps you wouldn't object to a possible alliance with the Qunari, then?"

Usually, Leliana was too good at the Game to let her emotions show. His offer, however, clearly took her by surprise.

"I... I don't know. What _kind_ of alliance?"

Bull shrugged. "Don't know, yet. There've been flutters among the Ben-Hassrath about it. I know they'll require a show of good faith. I just didn't think it'd be something you'd entertain. But maybe you wouldn't object if I brought it up with the boss?"

"I... don't suppose there's any harm in at least hearing what they have to say. I've never heard of the Qunari allying with anyone before."

Bull gave her a smug grin. "That's because they never have. Corypheus is bad news. They know that as well as anyone."

"Corypheus is a threat to their hope of ever conquering Tevinter."

Bull laughed. In truth, he wasn't sure of the motivation behind such an offer, but he wasn't in a position to question it.

"Well, yes. That's part of it."

"Run it by the Inquisitor. If she approves, we'll talk more about it."

Bull nodded and turned to leave, but Leliana's voice stopped him.

"Will you let the other companions know that the Inquisitor and Commander will be out for the next few days on Inquisition business?"

Bull threw Leliana a lewd look over his shoulder as he descended the stairs. She smirked at him in return.

By the time he reached the great hall, Dorian had joined Varric at the table. Bull sat down at his plate and started eating again. The other two just stared at him until Varric loudly and deliberately cleared his throat.

"Well?"

"The Inquisitor is going to be gone for the next few days on Inquisition business."

The dwarf gave him a shrewd look. "On 'business'? Without her companions?"

"Yup." Bull paused, reveling in the reveal. "And _with_ the Commander."

Dorian let out a low whistle. "Well, well, well. Who would've thought he'd work up the nerve? I wonder where they're going." He started to stand. "Perhaps I should go give the Commander some pointers..."

Bull put his hand on the mage's shoulder and gently pushed him back down into his chair. "She and the Commander are reviewing the work of a blacksmith near Honnleath. They'll be taking a few soldiers with them. I wouldn't call it a romantic trip, Dorian."

The mage tinged red at the contact but said nothing. Since their last trip together, tensions between himself and the Tevinter mage were now at critical levels, but Dorian had yet to make a move. Either it would end in mayhem or in the bedroom. Bull would prefer the latter - not least because the former might upset their Inquisitor. Regardless, he decided to leave the teasing for later. They had more important matters to deal with tonight. Dorian brushed Bull's hand off his shoulder and made a petulant face.

"Spoilsport. I could have gotten at _least_ four or five blushes out of the Commander before he threw me out of his office."

Varric snickered but then turned almost immediately back to Bull with a more serious expression. "What else?"

"She's been getting some hate mail. Pretty awful stuff. Some of it about her and the Commander... Rumors and such. I'm sure you can relate. Not everyone loves your fiction as much as Cassandra."

"Well. Shit. I certainly can. My editor usually keeps most of it out of my sight, though. It takes some time to get desensitized to things like that. I'm surprised Leliana even showed her the letters."

"I don't think she saw them. Just heard about them. But it's something she'll need to get used to as a public figure. Sheltering her from these things won't help her."

He firmly believed it, but it didn't make it any easier to take. Bull sometimes wished the Inquisitor had a thicker skin. Then again, she wouldn't be _her_ if she did.

The three of them fell into a solemn silence, each chewing through their dinners slowly, wrapped up in their own thoughts. After a few minutes, Hawke approached, plate in hand, and looked them over. Her bow-shaped lips contorted in displeasure. Bull just shrugged at her as Dorian let out a deep sigh and took a long drink from his wine.

"I'd ask if someone died, but in our line of work, the answer is far too likely to be yes," she joked as she sat down next to Varric and then frowned at the complete lack of response. "Alright. I'll bite. What's up? I don't think I've ever seen the three of you this quiet. Either you're planning something really big - in which case, I want in - or something really depressing just happened - and I should probably know about it whether I want to or not."

Varric filled her in on the conversation. There was a bit of a lull before Varric took a sarcastic poke at Hawke.

"You've never had to deal with people who hated you before, have you?"

"Oh, no! Not at all. A Circle full of hostile mages and templars, Qunari, Carta, Coterie, various and sundry evil doers whose plots and schemes I've ruined, Chantry Mothers, a decimated city full of angry people..." She paused, but when no one spoke, she continued airily, "Plenty of people said nasty things about me, but I never believe any of it. Deep down, I'm sure they all really adore me. Cullen did. If I can turn a stodgy templar like him, I must be some kind of badass hero or something. Still glad that man finally came to his senses in the end. He's a good sort, even if he does have a stick up his ass most of the time." She leaned back and looked at them all in turn. "But if you're all so concerned for your lovely Inquisitor, why aren't you upstairs cheering her up?"

After a long pause, Dorian stood suddenly. "Excellent question, my dear." He picked up his bottle of wine and a couple of glasses off the table then looked around expectantly. "Well?"

Bull shrugged. Just because she needed to learn how to deal with it didn't mean she needed to do it _alone_.

"I'm in. You two coming?"

Hawke held up her hands. "I wouldn't want to intrude on family bonding time."

"You've got a shit ton of experience with this sort of thing, though," Bull reminded her.

Hawke seemed to waver as she considered Bull's point. Varric finally got up and grabbed her by the elbow.

"Come on. If we don't cheer her up, she'll be stewing on this all night. Grab another bottle or three, Sparkler. If we're gonna do this, we should do it up right."

Dorian gave a little cheer and pulled another few bottles off a nearby table. They finagled their way past the guards and took the stairs up to the Inquisitor's quarters. After a short but heated debate on whether they should knock, Bull pounded his fist on the door. They heard nothing until a small voice called out from the other side.

"Who's there?"

"Everyone, apparently," Dorian said jovially. "But more specifically, it's me, Varric, Bull, and Hawke. You looked a little down earlier, so we've come to cheer you up... with wine!"

The lock clicked, and the Inquisitor's tired face appeared. She smiled at them weakly, and it was apparent to all that she'd shed a few tears at least. Bull felt a little twinge of regret that they hadn't thought to come up sooner. What the woman needed was a distraction. If the Commander couldn't provide that tonight, then it was up to them.

"Well, as long as you have wine..."

She backed away and waved her hand for them to ascend the stairs into her quarters. As soon as they crested the stairs, Hawke gave a long, low whistle and threw herself down on the couch in front of the fire.

"Fancy digs, Inquisitor! Must be pretty lonely up here on your own, though."

The Inquisitor motioned for everyone to sit. Varric sat on the couch with Hawke, and Dorian lounged on the rug in front of the fire. Bull took a spot toward the back against the wall next to the fire place. The Inquisitor sat on the floor in front of the couch. From his spot, Bull could see everyone's face except Dorian's.

"It took some getting used to - the being alone. Those first few weeks in Haven, I thought I might go stir crazy in that tiny cabin by myself. But I've adjusted fairly well. We're often out in the field anyway. The large windows and tall ceilings here help, too."

Bull considered her words. He knew a little about the Dalish, but he hadn't really stopped to consider how the different customs might affect her.

"You were never alone in your clan?" he queried.

"Not really, no. Not like you mean. I... kept to myself more often than the others, but even then, we all slept near each other. Having a big space like this to myself is quite out of the ordinary. Half my clan could fit in here. It does have its upsides, though. I've even developed a taste for shemlen beds."

Dorian made a face as he handed each of them a glass of wine. "I can't imagine sleeping on the ground all the time. And around a whole group of people? It's bad enough when we're traveling around the back hills of Ferelden and Orlais. Give me a fluffy bed with plush velvet pillows, a full wine cellar and possibly a nice bubble bath."

Varric chuckled. "Yes, Dorian. We're all aware of your idea of the 'bare necessities.'" Dorian merely gave Varric a disdainful look, so the dwarf continued, "I don't mind sleeping on the ground. Maker knows I had to do enough of it while wandering around Sundermount with Hawke."

"Hey! I never made you come along. You were there of your own free will... unlike here, I understand. Something about being conscripted - detained and questioned about a certain dashing warrior's whereabouts?"

Varric shook his head. "The things I do for you..."

Hawke looked around at them with a smug look. "See? Unmitigated adoration."

Bull watched a small smile play at the corners of the Inquisitor's mouth as the two friends bantered back and forth. But she had yet to truly smile, and the glass of wine Dorian provided earlier sat untouched on the floor.

"I'm not sure how you do it, Hawke... stay so positive in the face of such darkness."

"My dearest Inquisitor, never mistake sarcasm and arrogance for positivity. I've got the former in large supply, but positivity? That's a hard commodity to come by. I have to admit, I'm impressed by _your_ fortitude. Running the Inquisition - an organization this large - with so much responsibility... I'm not sure how you manage to stay sane."

The Inquisitor finally gave them a real, albeit small, smile. "It is a bit terrifying, isn't it? But I've made good friends here. My advisors and companions have been the real driving force behind the success of the Inquisition. And, of course, people like you and Stroud - strong warriors sacrificing themselves once again for the greater good. The Inquisition couldn't succeed without you - without all of you."

Hawke blinked once and then broke into a wide grin. "That was quite amazing what you did there. We came up here to cheer _you_ up, and suddenly you're giving _us_ a pep talk. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were buttering us up for some awful battle in the desert wastelands of Orlais... ... oh, wait..."

She winked at the Inquisitor, and Bull laughed. Hawke was certainly a larger than life personality, but in retrospect, he found himself glad that the job of Inquisitor hadn't fallen in her lap. Their Inquisitor might be quiet sometimes. She might have moments of doubt and introspection. But she had an inherent kindness held up by an iron will. She never pushed her advantage unless absolutely necessary. It wasn't _his_ style, per se, but people like him and Hawke didn't need to be in charge of organizations like this one.

_And your fellow followers of the Qun would probably exile you for even thinking like that._

He should be figuring out weaknesses and finding ways to exploit the kingdoms of Ferelden and Orlais. He shouldn't care about who was in charge of the Inquisition as long as that person eliminated the threat - Corypheus. The Qun allowed no personal thoughts, only honor and duty to the exclusion of all else. He was supposed to be working to help these lost people comprehend "the way." Perhaps he'd been a spy among the unenlightened for too long. He'd begun to think like them, and even more troubling, he wasn't nearly as upset about it as he should be.

"Don't let her fool you, Snowflake," Varric warned. "She's just using that sarcasm to cover up her glaring insecurities. Hawke's not as invincible as she seems. You should have seen her after Fenris left-"

"Maker's _balls_ , Varric! _That_ was a special circumstance and has long since been resolved, as you well know. A minor blip in the heroic history of Marian Hawke."

Varric's eyes positively twinkled. "How is Fenris, by the way? Still as broodingly handsome and gratingly rude as ever, I expect."

"As if I'd be with anyone who wasn't _at least_ as pretty as me... Fenris is fine, thank you. It's only taken... what? A month or two for you to ask?"

"Well, I never know what to expect. You're on, then you're off, then you're on-"

Hawke leaned back on the couch, crossed her arms in front of her, and gave them all an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "One time. One time he ran away from our relationship-"

"-for three years-" Varric inserted.

"-because he'd been hurt! And anyway, you're just jealous."

Varric let out a sarcastic laugh. "Me? Jealous of that depressing elf?"

Bull heard the note of bitterness in Varric's tone and filed it away for later while he watched the Inquisitor's expression go from mildly amused and slightly uncomfortable to rapt attention in a split second. No one else seemed to notice, not even the typically observant dwarf... although Varric clearly had some issues to work through where Marian Hawke was concerned. Dorian turned his head to look back at Bull with a devilish grin on his face.

"This is quite entertaining," he murmured with a quirk of his perfectly manicured brow.

And Varric wasn't through, yet. "You're kidding, right? If you're still together, where is Fenris now?"

"He's got his own things to take care of. Besides, you know he would die to protect me. I'd rather not give him the opportunity."

"He's just ok with that? The Fenris _I_ know would be livid that you left him behind."

Hawke raised an eyebrow and turned to look at the others. "Oh, _hello_ everyone! Don't mind us! Same conversation, different day. Here I thought we'd cheer up the Inquisitor, maybe eat some fancy treats from snooty nobles... instead you get an earful about my love life. At least you do look a little cheered up. Glad to know my relationship foibles are entertaining. Got any chocolates?"

The Inquisitor smiled. "No chocolates, but I do have cookies."

She got up to retrieve a large, ornate tin from her desk and passed it around. There was a brief, awkward lull as everyone chewed on Orlesian caramel cookies. Finally the Inquisitor spoke.

"I don't mean to pry, but... you're with an elf?"

Hawke gave her a confused look. "Yes, Fenris is an elf. He was a slave in Tevinter for a long time. I helped free him from his master, Danarius."

"Oh. I didn't know that. I've only read bits and pieces of the Tale of the-"

"Don't bother," Hawke interrupted with a wave of her hand. "That book is not even _close_ to an accurate depiction of what happened. But Varric likes to take 'artistic liberties' with the truth. Be careful or you, too, might end up a celebrity on the run."

Varric rolled his eyes. "You're so dramatic, Hawke. You know I just want you to be happy..."

Hawke reached over and pulled him into a bear hug. "Oh, _there's_ my trusty dwarf!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Varric grumbled, but he was grinning ear to ear. Bull chuckled to himself at their complex relationship. Except for the deeply buried undertone of sexual tension, they reminded him strongly of a Qunari relationship. For the Qunari, sex and relationships existed in completely separate spheres.

Bull reflected briefly on Dorian. Even if their game of cat and mouse ended with casual sex at some point, the idea of sleeping with someone he knew - someone he worked with on a regular basis - was decidedly un-Qunari. And as with his shifting thoughts, that didn't bother him as much as it should. On a superficial level, he understood that he should probably analyze those thoughts a bit harder, but he couldn't seem to summon the strength for it. So, he shook his head as if to clear the thoughts away and focused on the Inquisitor once more.

"Do you ever find that being with him makes things... harder for you? Do you feel like you have fewer opportunities?"

Hawke furrowed her brow. "I don't quite follow..."

"I mean... do people treat you differently because he's there? Because he's... not human."

Hawke smiled and slowly nodded her head in understanding. "Ahhh... I see what you're asking. Do I feel slighted or that I've missed out on opportunities from bigoted, idiotic people because I'm with an elf?"

The Inquisitor blushed. "I... sorry. You don't have to answer."

"No. I'm happy to let you know that I've never cared what others thought of my relationship with Fenris-" she shot a glare at Varric "-or what 'opportunities' I might miss. I love him. He's far more valuable to me than a few lost jobs or whispered insults. And the advantage of being a warrior is no one insults you to your face unless they're looking for a fight. It's a part of life." She paused and then added with a small smile, "If I know Cullen at all - which I do - he doesn't care, either. He doesn't do anything by halves. If he said he's in, he's _all_ in. Educating some backward ass hats on how to treat his woman won't bother him a bit."

The Inquisitor's face flushed deep red, and she looked down at her hands. "Um... yes. Thank you. I appreciate your candor. Still... it's hard knowing I could potentially harm him by simply existing and being with him. I'm not used to shem- human culture, but the disparagement of elves seems universal."

Dorian gave her a sheepish half smile. "I wish I could argue, but as you've just heard, my own country actively keeps elves as slaves. The best I can offer is that there are many in Tevinter who would like to see that change."

"And there are people like you, Snowflake," Varric added softly, "making that change happen... even if it is gradual. What you did in Orlais - Briala being named the first elven nobility - that will have consequences far and wide. You are actively making the world a better place for elves with every move you make. If... _when_ you defeat Corypheus, you'll secure your place as another elven hero of Thedas... I'll make sure of that."

Varric grinned, and the Inquisitor laughed. "I _knew_ you were writing all this down!"

"I'll at least have a cameo appearance, right?" Hawke queried. "Don't write me as too tragic should the worst befall me in this siege."

Varric laughed at Hawke's long-suffering tone and the hand she'd thrown against her forehead with dramatic flourish. Then he shuddered.

"Don't jinx it, Hawke!"

Bull let his mind drift as the conversation turned to more mundane topics. They spoke a little about the siege and then more about some odd happenings around Skyhold involving a barrel full of daggers and some missing cheese. Then the Inquisitor asked for a story, and Hawke and Varric took some time to argue about which story to tell. Eventually they settled on the Kirkwall Rebellions because the Inquisitor needed to know how "badass" her Commander really was. And indeed, if even a portion of the story were true, Bull had to credit the Commander with his bravery in the face of a mad woman. Varric had settled into full storyteller mode, his voice undulating with the emotion of the story, and Bull relaxed into the stone wall as he watched the others watch Varric.

"Meredith ordered the templars to kill Hawke, but Cullen refused and demanded the Knight-Commander step down. When he took his stand, he had no way of knowing whether his fellow templars would back him up. They very well could have followed Meredith's orders to kill all of us. But he stepped right between Hawke and Meredith, raised his sword against his Knight-Commander and shouted, 'You'll have to go through me!' It was chaos for a while after that, but the Commander fought with us valiantly."

Bull chuckled slightly at the proud but shy look on the Inquisitor's face as she listened to Varric and Hawke sing his praises. If Cullen were here, he'd be blushing wildly and arguing that his stand had come far too late - that he should have seen through Meredith sooner. But this was Varric and Hawke's show for the Inquisitor, and they were going to play it up as much as possible.

"Meredith was reduced to a toxic statue, and Cullen, now leading the templars, let us go in peace. He spent most of his time working with one of our other companions, Aveline, to rebuild Kirkwall until the Seeker tapped him a few years later to join her little start-up organization. Something about an Inquisition..."

The Inquisitor laughed. "And you told her you didn't have any idea how to find the Champion. So they made me Inquisitor instead."

Hawke shook her head. "You're the one with the glowy mark that closes rifts. I just defended a city against a Qunari invasion and took out a mad Knight-Commander."

"Among other things," Varric mumbled.

The Inquisitor laughed again and looked around her, resting her eyes on each of them in turn. Bull suddenly felt naked under her gaze, as if he had no defenses. He averted his eye, unsure of why he was reacting that way.

"Thank you all so much. This has been a lovely evening... just the distraction I needed, as you all seemed to already know. I'm not sure what I did to deserve such friends."

"Besides saving our asses on a regular basis?"

The Inquisitor grinned at Varric's question. "Yes, besides that."

"I'll write up a list," he promised.

They all laughed and then stood to go. Bull was the last to wish her a goodnight. As he was about to walk out her door, though, a small hand on his arm stopped him.

"Thank you again, Bull. Also, I'll be back in a few days if there's anything you'd like to discuss."

Bull was stunned. He literally couldn't think of anything to say except, "Uh... what?"

"You just seem like you have something on your mind. If you'd like to talk about it, I'm happy to listen."

Bull wracked his brain for any way she could have possibly talked with Leliana before he'd come up the stairs. Perhaps a note? But why would the spymaster have sent a note about that?

"Uh, sure boss. Just have a question for you. Nothing special."

"OK. I'll come find you when I get back."

"Sounds good. I'll... uh... let you get to sleep now. Safe travels."

"Thank you. Good night."

Bull walked out and waved nonchalantly as she closed and locked the door behind him. Inside, however, he was reeling from her pointed comment. Was he that easy to read? He'd never been before. Varric had mentioned something about her uncanny ability to sense when someone was hiding something, but he wasn't really hiding anything. He couldn't hide what he didn't know.

But he did _suspect_ the Qunari were up to something. Perhaps that's what she'd picked up on. That meant that he had a tell, though. A Ben-Hassrath couldn't afford tells, especially ones the leader of the Inquisition could suss out. The Iron Bull frowned and knew he wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight as he sifted through anything and everything that might have given him away.


	51. In which the Commander and Inquisitor enjoy a short reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Evana take a little break to get to know one another better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for the long wait, have a 12K+ chapter of mostly fluff and a few slightly sexy bits (and one "Cullen shows us how much he's grown" moment after a run in with a Chantry Mother). Lots of smooches. Lots of feelings. I hope you enjoy.

Cullen reached back to rub at his neck as he walked toward the stables. Nervous energy jangled through him, setting him on edge. There were so many ways he could mess this up. Feeling for the coin he'd just retrieved from Harritt one last time, he buttoned the hidden pocket, swung his heavy cloak over his shoulders and took a deep breath. It did nothing to calm him.

After greeting the four lieutenants accompanying them on the excursion, he busied himself retrieving his and Evana's horses from the stable. The sound of the kitchen door caught his attention, and he looked over in time to see her appear on the stairs from the kitchens with a hot, buttered roll in hand. As she approached, he noted the dark circles that seemed to permanently mar her pale skin these days, but she smiled nonetheless and greeted him softly. He murmured a greeting in return, unable to keep the admiring look from his face as he helped attach her saddlebags. He knew it was unprofessional to be so familiar with her in front of his officers, but he couldn't seem to help himself.

They set off just as the early dawn light crept over the mountains. Recent snow made the roads precarious, and for several hours no one spoke except to warn others of hazards. Finally, they reached the main road out of the mountains and took off at a quick pace.

Stopping briefly for a midday meal, the group sat together in relative quiet. Cullen lifted a brow in surprise at the muted behavior of his normally rowdy officers - until he remembered his conversation with Malia. His lieutenants stole glances at Evana from of the corners of their eyes, not with fear or malice, but with a wary kind of reverence.

Evana didn't seem to notice. If anything, she acted as if she were uncomfortable as well. There wasn't time to do anything about it now, but he would have to work something out. Otherwise, this would be a long and unnecessarily awkward trip.

Despite leaving before dawn, darkness had long fallen by the time they neared Redcliffe. Honnleath would be straight south of them now, but they wouldn't have any roads to guide them, only paths made by the area locals. He had already made arrangements with Redcliffe Farms to stay in the Inquisition camp nearby, so they headed off the road to the camp site.

The soldiers stationed there gave their Inquisitor a hearty welcome, clearly used to her company. Encouraged by the camp soldiers' easy conversation with Evana, his Lieutenants gradually relaxed in her presence. The underlying respect never fully went away - and rightfully so - but the hesitance to speak dissolved as they all sat around the fire. After a quick and very late dinner, Evana stood and smiled down at him.

"I'm going to up to visit with Elaina and Seanna for a few minutes. Would you like to come?"

He'd never met the women before, but he'd read Evana's report of her time with them and often heard Dennett speak of his wife and daughter. With a nod, Cullen stood.

"Of course."

They walked in silence up the hill to the Dennett homestead. He glanced in her direction, but couldn't make out her features in the darkness. His nervousness, which he'd forgotten about during the day's travels, returned in full force as he thought through his plans. Thankfully, as he'd learned around the war table all those months ago, the Dalish valued actions over words.

He'd also read - and talked with Josephine - enough about her culture to know that the giving of this kind of gift between lovers was a momentous thing for the Dalish. He wasn't afraid of that. He wanted her to know how he felt. He just hoped it wasn't too much, too soon.

They spent almost an hour with Dennett's family, and Cullen found them to be two of the most genuine - and most entertaining - people he'd ever met. If they thought it suspicious that the Inquisitor and Commander were traveling together in such a small party, they made no mention of it. For that one thing alone, Elaina and Seanna permanently endeared themselves to Cullen.

Finally, they took their leave of the family with promises to see them again on their return trip and headed back to the camp. The watch guard told them the soldiers had just retired, and Cullen frowned when he found only one unoccupied tent. Clearly, his lieutenants were getting bolder. As much as he would like to spend the night holding her, he couldn't justify it. It wouldn't be appropriate - not in such mixed company. He also acknowledged his own weakness. It would be difficult to be near her so long - the whole night - and keep his hands to himself.

And then, of course, there were the nightmares.

Evana had gone to pull her bedroll off her saddle, and now came to join him in front of the only open tent. She regarded him in vague amusement as he quietly explained the situation.

"Looks like your soldiers are eager to incite gossip, Commander. Shall we indulge them?"

Despite his earlier resolve, her slow smile sorely tested him. "It wouldn't be-"

"Appropriate. I know, vhenan. I'm merely teasing you. I'm used to sleeping in the open air. I can sleep next to the fire."

"No, no. I would feel better if you had the tent. I won't sleep much anyway."

She narrowed her eyes slightly and looked at him as if she might ask more questions but instead shrugged and turned to enter the tent. Cullen grabbed her hand, and after looking back to see that the watch guard was turned away, he pulled her to him. He kissed her chastely, gently. Any more than that, and he'd likely follow her into the tent in spite of himself.

"Goodnight, Evana," he murmured in her ear.

"Goodnight, vhenan," she whispered back.

He pulled away, and she shyly smiled at him before finally disappearing behind the tent flap.

Cullen threw out his bedroll next to the roaring fire. It wasn't nearly as cold here as it was in Skyhold, but the early spring chill still threatened to creep in. He pulled off his cuirass and pauldrons, but kept his armored doublet, vambraces and greaves. If they were to be attacked, he would be as prepared as possible. With his sword resting within arm's reach, he closed his eyes, anticipating a long wait before sleep claimed him. Miraculously, however, he fell asleep almost instantly.

The early dawn light had already begun its inexorable march across the inky sky when he awoke suddenly, bolting straight up from his bedroll as he frantically gasped for breath. From his cold sweat and pounding heart, he knew he'd likely woken from a nightmare, but mercifully, he couldn't remember any details. Thank the Maker for small favors. Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned to find the night watch guard already halfway across the camp, her concerned gaze fixed on him. His face warmed with embarrassment as he waved her off, and she only hesitated for a moment before nodding and silently returning to her position.

Eager to shake off the aftermath of the nightmare, he pulled clothes from his saddlebag and walked down to the small pond near the camp. He stripped and waded into the water, hissing as the icy cold hit him. The chill sent a shiver down his spine, but it also chased away the final vestiges of his uneasiness. He splashed the water over his face and shoulders, letting it run down his back and chest to wash off as much of the night sweats as possible.

He found some trees a little further away for some privacy and changed into a fresh set of clothes for the day. By the time he returned to the camp, a couple of bleary-eyed lieutenants had emerged from the tents. He ignored them and set about putting on his armor, rolling up and stowing his bedroll on his saddle, and finally saddling his and Evana's horses. When he returned, none of the lieutenants gathered around the fire could hold his gaze, so he sat down and waited for them to finish preparing breakfast and packing up their belongings. He allowed the uncomfortable silence to fester until he heard a rustling in Evana's tent.

"Lieutenants Callie, Branscom, Reicher and Brielle," Cullen all but growled, "if anything like last night happens again, we will have an actual _conversation_ about it. Understood?"

A rush of subdued yes ser's split the silence just before Evana appeared. Apparently noticing the tense silence, she paused just outside her tent and glanced at Cullen, brow raised in question. He jerked his chin at lieutenants, and no doubt recognizing his glower, she resolutely kept her smile in check as she surveyed the somber group, likely because she didn't want the lieutenants to feel worse.

They ate breakfast in silence and then took to the road once more. The going wasn't as difficult as he'd feared, but it still required all his concentration to pick the best paths through the hills. They reached the tiny inn at Honnleath well after sundown, and Cullen and Evana left their horses with the lieutenants at the stables. Evana had offered to go alone to obtain the keys for their prearranged rooms, but though he said nothing about it to her, he knew better. Honnleath was a small town and likely had many small minds as well. He wasn't about to throw her to the wolves like that.

He and Evana passed through the inn's main entrance into a cozy common room, pausing at the door to take in the scene. Wide tables flanked by long bench seats filled the room except for a small raised platform on the opposite side of the room. Fire places, one on either side of the platform, warmed the room for the few patrons sprinkled among the tables. As they turned to their left and approached the receiving desk, Cullen gritted his teeth, preparing for the worst. Sure enough, the rather portly innkeeper gave Evana a haughty and dismissive sidelong glance and then spoke pointedly - and a bit brusquely - to Cullen.

"Can I help you?"

"You can. We have a reservation for four rooms for three nights," Cullen responded in as calm a tone as he could manage.

"Four rooms?" the man echoed, seeming a little surprised. He glanced at Evana again, this time with suspicion. "Then you are with the Inquisition?"

"Yes. The others in our group are tending the horses at the stable. They will be in shortly."

The innkeeper nodded, his curt manners softening a touch as he turned to his book and held his quill at the ready. "Name?"

"Commander Cullen Rutherford."

The man's face went from suspicious to jovial in a split second. "Commander?! They didn't say it would be the Commander himself coming to stay in our little inn! You're one of the Rutherfords who used to live here about ten years ago, are you not?"

"I haven't lived here in more than fifteen years, but my family remained here up until the Blight, yes."

The innkeeper nodded slowly, his eyes turning glassy and unfocused. "Sad times. I was sorry to see your folks taken by the Blight. The Rutherfords were good people."

Cullen tilted his head. "Thank you."

The innkeeper's attention shifted to Evana, who waited quietly beside Cullen - neither shrinking back nor putting herself forward. Still, the innkeeper gave her a dubious look and turned back to the Cullen.

"And, your... friend...?"

At this, Evana flashed a brilliant smile and threw out a hand. The innkeeper stared at the hand, not moving. Cullen opened his mouth to reprimand the man for his offensive behavior, but Evana's cheerful voice cut him off.

"Hello! My name is Evana Lavellan, but most people call me Inquisitor, or Herald, or sometimes 'Your Worship,' though I try to discourage that one as much as possible."

The innkeeper's eyes widened, and his hand visibly trembled as he finally reached out to grasp her hand. "I-Inquisitor! I had no idea. It's an honor to meet you!"

"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. And you are...?"

Cullen smirked as the innkeeper scrambled to recollect who he was and what he was doing. As well as she played the Game, he should have known she'd be fine. Still, he hated that she'd been forced to use her title to gain proper respect from the other man.

"Oh! I, um... I'm Gilleon Noris. You can call me Gil. If you like, that is. My wife is there, serving our patrons. Oi... Sandee! Come 'ere!"

A buxom woman with a kind but weary face approached. Gil motioned to the two of them.

"I told you the Inquisition booked some rooms, didn't I? Well, this here is _Commander_ Rutherford, and this young woman is the _Inquisitor_."

The woman's eyes widened in much the same way her husband's had earlier as she reverently took Evana's proffered hand. Cullen then shook hands with the woman as well.

"Oh! We'd heard Inquisition soldiers were coming, but I never thought I'd see the Inquisitor herself. Oh, you're a pretty one, aren't you? And you've been the one to fight all those battles and face down those demons? I can hardly believe it. You're so tiny... so petite! But I guess size doesn't matter when you've got your magic, eh?"

Cullen saw Evana's back stiffen just a little, but the gentle smile stayed plastered on her face. "It's all about strategy. And I have a lot of help in the form of my companions and advisors, of which the Commander is one." Her voice took on a vaguely apologetic tone as she continued, "I know it's late, Mrs. Noris, but is there any chance you might have something for me and my companions to eat? We've been traveling all day and are quite worn out."

Sandee nodded vigorously. "Yes! Of course, Inquisitor! Just have a seat anywhere, and I'll have a hot meal right out for you all."  
  
Cullen turned back to Gil. "I take it you do have rooms for us, then?"

"Oh! Yes! Of course! Would you like to go freshen up before dinner? I can have our lad, Josep, show you up."

"That would be ideal. We'll wait for my-" Just then, the door opened and the lieutenants walked in. Cullen turned back to Gilleon and shrugged. "Looks as though we're all present."

They followed the young man, Josep, up the stairs to the right of the entrance and to the four rooms reserved for them. Cullen instructed the lieutenants to share two of the rooms, and he and Evana each took one of the remaining rooms. Heading downstairs again, they found Sandee filling the nearest table with various dishes for them. A musician had taken up residence on the platform, and Cullen wondered briefly if it were one of Leliana's spies. He wouldn't be surprised. Anywhere the Inquisitor went, Leliana was sure to have at least one or two people hiding in plain sight.

They dug into the hearty meal, and he noticed the lieutenants seemed to have worked through most of their earlier embarrassment. Either that or the ale Sandee provided had loosened their tongues enough to not care. He took another swig from his own mug and felt the stress of the day slip away. The dreams and visions still haunted him, but the physical symptoms of withdrawal had lessened over the last few weeks. He knew an episode could hit him at any time, though, so he decided to enjoy the feeling of comparative wellness while he could.

Finishing his plate, he leaned back against the wall and tried to focus on the ballad coming from the back of the room, but his eyes were drawn to Evana instead. Each glance her direction dragged on longer than the last until he found himself simply watching her from across the table as she sipped her drink and mouthed along with the song. He strained to hear her voice but couldn't distinguish anything over the bard's voice and lute. She'd shed her armor for elven robes that looked much like the ones she'd lost in the wreckage of Haven. Josephine must have procured them for her somehow, as her clan was in no position to be sending another such gift. Instead of the white robes from her clan, however, the soft greens of the fabric gently molded to her lithe form. Delicate embellishments at the neckline drew his attention, and he imagined kissing her neck, running his hands across her bare shoulders and holding her close as he...

A titter to his right broke into his reverie, and he turned to find Branscom and Brielle watching him with huge grins on their faces. They quickly looked away while trying - and failing - to wrestle their faces into neutral expressions.

Cullen sighed. It was hopeless. _He_ was hopeless. His body had begun to react to the direction of his thoughts, so he sat up and shifted himself to face the bard. Her lilting tones soothed him for a time, but eventually, the room, which also apparently served as a public house for the local villagers, had filled up, making it impossible to hear much over the din of the patrons.

As if in tune with his thoughts, Evana stood and bid them all a goodnight. Cullen nodded to her, resisting the urge to follow, and sat back to finish his ale. Only when he'd drained the last of the beverage and reminded his lieutenants that they would be visiting the blacksmith, Morgan, early the next morning did he allow himself to leave the table.

As he topped the stairs, he debated whether he should disturb Evana. It was later than he'd anticipated... but then he remembered something he'd packed, something he knew she would appreciate him sharing. He went to his own room, shed his armor down to his tunic and pants and returned to her door with a pouch in hand. She threw the door open almost before he'd even knocked, and he frowned as he stepped inside her room.

"You should check who it is before-"

She grabbed a fist full of his tunic and pulled his mouth down to hers. "I knew it was you," she explained between kisses. "I know your walk."

He chuckled softly against her lips and pulled away only long enough to close and lock the door behind him. Then he snagged her around the waist and claimed her lips with all the pent up desire of the last few days. She molded into his body, and he pressed more firmly against her mouth, momentarily caught off guard by the overwhelming feeling of _wholeness_ brought on by simply being near her. The taste of her, both familiar and at the same time exotic, flooded his senses as her lips opened to him, inviting him to drink deeply. Her fingers kneaded into his shoulders, his neck, his scalp, eliciting a dangerous, primal urge to push her against the wall and...

He abruptly broke the kiss and rested his forehead on hers, struggling to think of something to distract himself. Anything to cool the sudden wildfire in his blood.

"You know my walk?" he finally asked breathlessly.

"You have a particular gait," she responded, her own uneven breath fanning across his neck. "Everyone does, really."

"Hmmmm. Good to know. I'll try to be more stealthy next time."

She hummed a laugh that ended as a hum of satisfaction, and he became acutely aware that his feeble distraction wasn't working at all. The slight give of her supple skin under his fingers inflamed him further, and he trailed his fingertips along her spine, savoring the shudder that pulled her body even closer to his. Unable to resist the urge to taste more of her, he leaned down to brush kisses across her neck. She whimpered softly, sending spasms of pleasure straight to where he ached for her most. As he'd imagined earlier, he let his fingers slide up and across her bare shoulders. She shivered again at the feather-light touch, and he laved his tongue over the rapidly fluttering pulse at the base of her neck.

A roll of her hips into his and a sexy moan - his name on her tongue - nearly pushed him over the edge, his brain mentally calculating the minimum number of steps between them and her bed... which brought into sharp focus how close he actually was to losing control. Gathering all his strength of will, he curled his fingers around her shoulders and forced his unwilling - or rather all too willing - body into stillness. The harsh sounds of impassioned breathing rent through the small space, and he reluctantly pulled away, knowing full well how easily her closeness could draw him in again.

Looking into her face, he read the mixture of disappointment and understanding in her eyes, and he gave her a weak, apologetic smile. His comfort came in the knowledge that no words needed to be spoken between them. As he bent down to retrieve the pouch that had fallen to the floor during their moment of passion, he silently vowed to somehow repay her for her infinite patience and acceptance of his needs.

"I brought us some tea," he muttered lamely as he straightened and held up the pouch between them.

She smiled and gestured to the two mugs on a table by the fire and the kettle already well on its way to boiling. Two chairs sat on either side of the table, waiting for them to sit.

"As did I. But we can use yours if you like."

He laughed a little, still a shaky in the aftermath of their passion, and shook his head. "It seems we had the same idea. You knew I'd come up?"

"Of course. You told me the first night we talked in the Haven that, like me, you prefer small groups to a loud tavern. I figured once I left, you'd follow soon after."

"You know me too well," he murmured as he smiled at her.

A flash of something indefinable passed over her face before she smiled back, and an uneasy feeling replaced the comfort of only a moment ago. He had no idea how to properly address it, but instinctively, he knew he couldn't let it pass. Perhaps a straightforward method was best. If they weren't to the point where they could ask each other difficult questions... well, they needed to get there. He gestured toward the chairs, and once they were settled, he reached across the table and took her hand in his.

"Evana, may I ask you something?"

"Of course, vhenan. You can ask me anything."

He'd already resigned himself to a certain amount floundering. Still, he inhaled deeply, fortifying his resolve, before attempting to form his question.

"When you've spoken of your marri- your bonding before, you seemed to be... that is, I noticed you were not..." Cullen sighed and closed his eyes, cursing his ineptitude. "I'm sorry, I should have thought more about how to phrase this question before I asked it."

Evana's expression had turned wary, and she dropped her gaze from his momentarily before hesitantly meeting his eyes again. "You're asking about my bonding? What about it?"

"Were you unhappy - with Hanir, I mean?"

She blinked several times, and her mouth opened and then closed again as if she couldn't think of the right thing to say. Finally, she shook her head.

"I... I don't know. I knew our relationship wasn't _normal_ , but I really only had other members of my clan to compare with. At the time, I likely would have said no, even though I knew I was... unsatisfied. He was never cruel. He simply... didn't treat me like a bondmate. Our relationship after the bonding was no different than our relationship before. We were friends. Or what I thought friends were before I came to the Inquisition. I've since learned that even friends are usually more to each other than I seemed to be to him."

Cullen furrowed his brows. "So... it was more a marriage of convenience?"

Evana considered this for a moment. "I suppose so. We could be together and protect each other. He could oversee my training more thoroughly. It would make preservation of our lore more likely. And we were both mages, so our child likely would have been a mage, which would ensure the next in line for Keeper. Hanir was so serious about preserving the Elvhen lore. Yes... yes, that makes sense."

She seemed a little excited by the prospect, and he gave her a lopsided smile. "It's a good thing?"

"Oh, well..." She blushed and hesitated before continuing. "It just... it means that maybe I wasn't necessarily..." She looked away from him, working through the new thoughts as she spoke. "Perhaps he didn't view me as a failure as his bondmate. If he never expected me to be more than a means to an end, it makes sense that he'd not make any effort to treat me like a true partner. Although..."

Her eyes turned distant, and a heavy silence fell between them. Thoughts tumbled one over the other, coming in faster than he could process them as he considered her words. She'd thought she was a failure because her bondmate was neglectful? How could anyone fail to see the amazing treasure she was? And to deny her the chance at a truly happy bonding for purely logistical reasons seemed more than neglectful. It was cruel.

As he mulled over things more thoroughly, however, it occurred to him that human marriages in Ferelden were often more about strengthening families and increasing wealth than they were about love. How many arranged marriages had he attended as a child? Ten? Twenty? More? And she had entered into the bonding voluntarily. Perhaps in this, elves and humans weren't so different after all.

The kettle began to boil, so he gently released her hand to retrieve the kettle and pour the water. His movement seemed to pull her from her thoughts, and she blinked at him, shaking her head in bewilderment.

"Sorry. It's just... it makes sense except for one thing... the child... you have to... I mean we would have needed to actually, um, be together for that to happen. He was never particularly interested in that, though."

Cullen's brows shot up in surprise even as his face warmed. He cleared his throat and then bit his tongue to stop the words. _Not particularly interested?_ Suddenly, her emotional reaction to his initial denial of her advances made much more sense.

"You and he didn't...?" He cleared his throat again and started over. "I mean... you never...?"

"Oh! We did! Just... not often. Maybe... once a month? It was one of the few times he actually touched me."

Her face flushed red, the embarrassment clear in the slump of her shoulders and the way her arms wrapped protectively around her middle. He wanted to tell her how ridiculous it was. How she was the most wonderful, beautiful thing he'd ever had in his life. How he had to school himself to not reach for her any time she came near him. How he loved her so much now, it almost hurt. But the words wouldn't come.

Instead, he quietly pulled her from the chair and held her. Her arms wrapped around his waist, and she snuggled into his chest. Her voice came out muffled as she spoke.

"Hanir wasn't a bad person, you know. We just... we didn't communicate well. Or at all, really, outside of my lessons. Everything was a lesson." She looked up at him, a sad smile on her face. "But you don't have to worry about me, Cullen. It was a long time ago. I know myself better now. I know what I want and what I need. And I'm quite aware that our current forbearance is not for lack of _wanting_ more."

He chuckled lightly against her braid. "Certainly not. Although my reasons - and my self control - are quickly dwindling."

She was quiet for a moment. When she finally spoke, her voice held a serious note that left him uneasy.

"There are still a few things we need to talk through."

"Such as?" he prompted.

She hesitated, and Cullen got the distinct feeling that what came out of her mouth next would not be what she really wanted to say, which meant there was more. It was only a feeling, however, so he let the moment pass.

"Well, I've told you about my past, singular relationship. What about you? You said you didn't leave anyone special in Kirkwall, but perhaps elsewhere?"

Cullen pulled away to search her face. She gave him an encouraging smile, and the corner of his mouth lifted as he brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek. If she truly thought it was important to know, he would tell her.

"It might be difficult for me to... talk through it."

"Oh... if it's too painful-" she quickly backpedaled.

"No, you're right. You deserve to know." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before continuing. "You already know the basics of what happened at Kinloch Hold. Before that, at templar training, there was the typical fumbling between coeds. I..." Cullen laughed awkwardly as he felt the heat rising to his cheeks again. "... I learned a few things. Around sixteen, however, I left those activities behind in favor of focusing on my studies. Then, after I finally became a full templar, I met Neria Surana."

"The Hero of Ferelden?" she asked incredulously.

Cullen gave her a sheepish smile. "At the time, she was just another Circle mage. I attended her Harrowing, actually. She was a lovely woman."

"Lovely?" Evana questioned with a quick wiggle of her brows.

He laughed at her playfulness, the levity making it easier to speak. "There was some youthful infatuation, at least on my part-" He gave her a significant look. "-a feeling I had forsaken until recently."

That got a smile out of her, but her expression turned questioning as she pondered his words. "You never acted on it?"

"No. She was one of my charges. Even if she felt the same, it would have been... inappropriate. Fraternization between mages and templars was forbidden. But I greatly admired her skill and compassionate nature, and she... well, perhaps she only felt sorry for me, but... she kissed me once in the library."

Evana grinned at him. "She kissed you once? In the library? How scandalous!" Her voice turned serious. "Although, I'm sure nineteen-year-old Cullen really did agonize over that."

He laughed again and nodded. "Quite a lot, actually."

"Then she became a Warden, right?"

"Yes, I only saw her once after that." He tried to remain focused as images pushed to the forefront of his mind. "She freed the Tower during the Blight. I would be dead or mad if not for her. I was in a sorry state when she found me. The things I said were... unkind. Untoward. I regret them now. I wish she knew that."

He breathed methodically, willing the images to leave him. Apparently noticing his mild distress, Evana pulled him over to sit down at the table and pushed a mug toward him. He gratefully took a drink and let out a slow breath as the calming herbs instantly began to take effect.

"You really don't have to do this, Cullen. I just thought..."

"No," he said with a shake of his head and a wan smile. "I want to. I want you to know - about me. About my past. About... what made me who I am." With a final deep breath, he continued. "After the Circle fell, I was... it was difficult for me to get back to normal. They cleansed the Hold of all traces of the incident. Everyone around me seemed to be fine. But in my mind's eye, I saw the blood on the floor, the bodies torn apart all around me. I saw them in my dreams and in my waking hours. The dead eyes, the slit throats, the demons that..." A familiar panic welled up inside him at the thought of the demons who had tried to break him. He closed his eyes and gripped at the table, shaping his voice into an empty calmness he did not feel. "... the demons that promised me everything I ever wanted if I would only give in. I was overcome with visions and hallucinations. I couldn't tell dream from reality. A deep paranoia took hold. I began to suspect everyone and everything. The non mage healer who was tending my physical wounds, Kathrine, noticed. I suppose she wanted to save me. So, she took me to her bed."

Evana made a small noise of sympathy, and he finally opened his eyes. The concern and understanding in her gaze nearly undid him. He felt a lump rise in his throat, so he took another drink, looked down at the table and soldiered on.

"At first, I craved that time with her. It was the only time anything felt real. For weeks, months, I would stagger blindly through the day, barely speaking with anyone. Then I'd find Kathrine and... I knew it couldn't be a hallucination because she taught me things I'd never known before. I felt secure with her. My time with her became an affirmation that I was truly out, truly free."

"After a time, though, Knight-Commander Greagoir also noticed that I didn't seem to be getting better. He sent me to a small Chantry in Greenfell. I was distraught at first. I had come to rely on Kathrine. But the sisters and Mother there helped me see her for what she was - a crutch. Months passed. By the time I came back to the Circle, I knew we couldn't continue - I didn't truly care about her in that way." He gave a humorless chuckle. "I was a bit deflated to find that she'd already moved on to someone else."

"A few months after that, Greagoir asked if I'd like to be transferred to Kirkwall. Despite my progress in Greenfell, it was still... difficult to be in the Ferelden Circle, so I jumped at the chance. I never saw Kathrine again."

She reached for him, and he took her hand across the table. "I didn't want anyone after that. There were a few, singular encounters at first, but I was in no state for anything real or lasting. I was too angry, too bitter. Then, after the Kirkwall Rebellions, I poured all my time and effort into restoring order and rebuilding Kirkwall. Which brings us to the Inquisition, when a strong, talented, beautiful woman quite literally fell from the Fade and into my life. Miraculously, she seemed to take a liking to me."

Her face smoothed into a sympathetic smile as she squeezed his hand. "I'm so sorry you had to go through those things, but I'm grateful for the man you are now. And that you let me call you ma vhenan'ara."

"As am I," he intoned softly. "The past is part of me. I will never be able to escape it, but as I said before, I can now put some distance between me and these events - between me and the anger against mages that blinded me for so long. Evana... You..." He cleared his throat and willed his voice to be steady. "You make me want to be a better man."

"Oh no, we can't have that," she teased. "If you get any better, I might not be worthy of you.

Cullen laughed, once again grateful for her levity, but then sobered as he denied her ridiculous words. "Never. You are more than I'll ever deserve, but I'm going to work to be worthy of you. Perhaps someday I'll feel less like a demon at the feet of an angel."

She leaned forward, giving him a pointed look. "Cullen, you are _not_ a demon, and I'm certainly no angel." She paused, letting the words linger. Then her gaze softened as she continued. "But I approve of us trying to be better people, to make up for our past mistakes. We'll get through it... together."

He smiled his agreement, and they sat in mutual, comfortable silence until she broke the moment with a giant yawn.

"So sorry," she mumbled. "All the traveling is catching up with me, I think."

"It's also quite late. I should leave you to sleep. Shall we meet downstairs for breakfast? After sunrise?"

"Sounds lovely. And thank you for sharing that with me, Cullen. I know it was difficult."

He just smiled and squeezed her hand again before draining the rest of his tea in hopes that it would help him sleep through the night. They stood up together, and he bent down to gently, _chastely_ kiss her goodnight before heading to his own noticeably empty room.

 

**

 

The following morning, Cullen woke early from a nightmare as usual. With no paperwork to distract him, he instead washed, dressed and headed downstairs to take a morning walk around his hometown.

Dawn mist clung to the edges of the surrounding forest as he strolled along the perimeter of the tiny village. He made the round in less than ten minutes and ended up in front of the Chantry he'd often visited as a child in order to talk with and learn from the templars there. The doors were open, so he entered the building and looked around at the familiar furnishings and statues.

Nothing had changed. The same prominent statue of Andraste stood at the front of the building. The pews lining the edges of the hall bore the same scuffs and carvings he remembered from his youth. It was as if time had stood still in this small corner of the world.

As he approached, Andraste's stone eyes bore down on him, compelling him to kneel. He bowed his head, and whether out of force of habit or some other worldly impetus, the Chant of Light poured forth in a fountain of reverence for the prophet and Maker who had brought him to the Inquisition... and consequently to his Inquisitor. A peace he had not felt in years fell over him, and as the verses ended, he knelt in silence for many minutes, lost in a sea of both remembrance and hope for the future. Finally, a voice broke his reverie.

"Few can recite such large swathes of the Chant of Light from memory. Were you a templar?"

A middle-aged Mother emerged from the darkened archway to his right, and he stood and bowed in greeting. "Yes, I was."

She did not miss his use of past tense. "You are no longer a templar, but you've not lost your faith?"

Cullen hesitated a moment before answering firmly, "Not in the Maker nor His blessed Andraste, no. But perhaps I _have_ lost faith in the Chantry - at least as it stood before the destruction of the Conclave. Regardless, the Order is my past. My future is... elsewhere."

The Mother nodded. "When word of the mage rebellions reached us, our templars abandoned us to fight. Some followed the Lord Seeker or struck out in their own personal holy war against the mages. Others went to join the new Inquisition. I take it by your sword that you are one of the latter."

"I am."

"And by your armor and demeanor, I take it you hold a prominent position with the Inquisition?"

"I do. I am Cullen Rutherford, military advisor to the Inquisitor and commander of the Inquisition armies."

The Mother raised her eyebrows slightly, but other than that, she showed no sign of surprise. "And I am Mother Lucretia. I am pleased to meet you, though I must admit I am saddened that you've chosen to forsake your vows. The Chantry could use a faithful man such as you."

Cullen clenched his teeth, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he struggled to remain calm. He wanted to point out that the Chantry _did_ use him. And he'd given his all for seventeen years. Looking back on it now, he could see that he'd given too much. But before he could corral his emotions enough to respond, the Mother spoke again.

"You deserted the Chantry, but you are still taking your lyrium, are you not?"

Five years ago, he would have answered the question automatically and without thought. If a Mother wanted to know something, he would've told her. What reason could he have given to deny her? Now, however, Cullen balked, his indignation warring with a sense of wonder at the Mother's audacity. _And why does she want to know, anyway?_

"Begging your pardon, Mother Lucretia," he responded in as respectful a tone as he could muster, "but I can't see how that's any of your business."

The Mother pulled back as if he'd slapped her, and he felt the reflexive guilt clouding his earlier indignation. He shook it off with some difficulty and peered through the morning gloom at the Mother who so deftly wielded her weapon of words and clearly wasn't used to being rebuffed by a templar. _Ex templar_ , he firmly reminded himself.

A tense silence settled between them. He was about to take his leave of her when, seemingly taking a different tact, she relaxed her posture and moved to a place a hand on the back of the pew next to her.

"I suppose you're right. It is not my business. But I have heard of... a new form of lyrium. I wondered..."

"It is an evil the Inquisition is working to eradicate."

The Mother let out a small breath, a tentative smile reaching her placid lips. "I am glad of it."

Cullen contained his suspicion - or perhaps that was paranoia? - behind a neutral expression and tilted his head in acknowledgement. The Mother's actions could be nothing more than years of ingrained entitlement, the templars of this Chantry deferring to her so often that she'd become used to it. But his muscles constricted with tension nonetheless, and he remained silent.

"I'm sorry if I caused offense," she continued. "I am simply feeling... a bit lost after all this upheaval. Surely you can understand that?"

Cullen took a deep breath, letting the tension ease out of him. Regardless of any games she might be playing, he was not bound by the Chantry or by the Mother's passive aggressive wheedling. He did not need to let it upset him. He would not let the old ways rule him.

"I can certainly understand that," he allowed. "But in these times of upheaval each person has to make a choice for themselves. I survived the fall of the Ferelden Circle and then the explosion of the Chantry in Kirkwall. I have faithfully given of myself to a cause I believed in, to serve the Maker, _and I continue to do so_. You must decide for yourself whether you will remain or strike out to assist as others of your ilk, such as Mother Giselle, have done. No one is forcing you to remain, Mother Lucretia. But if you do stay, do it for the people here. Those you serve. Any other reason is not doing the Maker's work."

With that, Cullen turned on his heel and emerged from the Chantry into the morning sunlight. He allowed the brightness and warmth of the day wash away the remaining anger and drive out the shadows of his past life cast up to him by a floundering Chantry Mother. He and Cassandra had struck out at the will of the Divine to create something new. He would not allow Mother Lucretia to sully that.

By the time he entered the inn a few minutes later, the morning interlude was nothing but a faint memory. He found Lieutenants Reicher and Brielle already eating breakfast. After a quiet and hurried conversation with Sandee about a basket of food for two for the following day, he sat and waited for Evana to appear. Evana arrived a few minutes later, and finally, Callie and Branscom appeared.

When everyone had eaten, they headed out to speak with Morgan. The smith turned out to be a quiet but pointed man. He allowed them to watch him work and succinctly talked them through his methods, and they spent most of the day with him as he built the breastplate Branscom had requested to replace his old, somewhat beaten armor. Evana had been inquisitive, and at first, the smith seemed a little standoffish toward her, but as she'd demonstrated her extensive knowledge of crafting and smithing, Morgan began to talk almost exclusively with her about each step. Cullen caught the amused looks between his lieutenants as the tiny elf and burly smith quickly became the best of friends. They were all used to their Inquisitor's close friendship with Harritt, so no one was really surprised by the development.

Overall, Cullen found the man to be dedicated and also more knowledgeable than the smith from West Hill. He would verify with Evana and his lieutenants, but in his mind, Morgan was the better choice. They finally left the smith to his work toward the end of the day with promises to return for the completed breastplate in the morning. His lieutenants, chosen by Rozellene for this trip based on their knowledge of smithing or weaponry, seemed quite pleased with the blacksmith so far. All agreed that as long as breastplate came out well tomorrow, he was the best man for the job. Cullen looked to Evana, and she simply nodded.

As with the night before, they spent the early part of the evening in the common room, eating and enjoying the music. The niggling headache that had been following him around all afternoon intensified, however, and after finishing his ale, he stood to wish everyone a good night. Evana looked at him, a vague expression of concern passing over her face. In the next moment, however, she smiled and wished him a good night.

He took the stairs up to his room, and had just enough energy to take off his armor before collapsing on his bed. He knew he should drink the tea to at least take the edge off the headache, but his limbs were heavy and any movement exacerbated the pain.

The next thing he knew, a light knocking woke him from a doze. A wave of nausea washed over him as he stood to answer the door.

"Good evening, vhenan."

Her light, quiet voice soothed him slightly, and instead of answering, he backed away from the door to let her enter.

"Have you had tea?"

Afraid to speak or do anything to exacerbate the headache, he simply shook his head slowly, carefully.

"I will make you some, then. Lie down, vhenan."

He wanted to protest, to send her to bed instead of staying up to take care of him, but he was in too much pain now to deny her. Her movements were silent and graceful as she went through the motions to prepare the tea. As the kettle warmed on the fire, she approached him and sat on his bed beside him.

"Would you like me to use some magic? Or not?"

He brushed off the irrational chill that clutched his heart at her words and forced himself to agree. "If you don't mind..."

"Not at all," she assured him. "Turn over to your stomach."

He gave her a confused look, but then turned gingerly to lie on his stomach. Instantly, she climbed on the bed to kneel beside him, and her cool fingers began kneading into his heated flesh. He let out an undignified groan as the healing magic gently pushed from her fingertips into his muscles. The pain dimmed slightly and the nausea lessened. She continued massaging his back, shoulders, neck and scalp until the kettle began to boil. By this time, her ministrations had relaxed him so much, he could barely keep his eyes open. He heard the sound of the kettle coming off the fire, but no more.

The light movement of the mattress woke him from another doze, and he groaned with pleasure as her fingers returned to his neck and scalp.

"Maker, you're amazing," he said with a mighty exhale.

She laughed softly, and he felt the light brush of her lips across his neck. A different kind of pleasure spread through him at the feel of her lips. His headache barely hummed in the back of his brain now, and the sensuality of her actions slowly dawned on him. She had not straddled him as she might have if this were a different kind of massage, but even the pressure of her fingers on his skin through his light tunic sent tingles of awareness through his whole body. Before he could think better of it, he rolled to his back and caught her hands in his, bringing them to his lips and kissing each finger.

"I am forever in your debt, my lady," he professed with a smirk. "How can I possibly return such kindness?"

She looked down at the bed as she continued to kneel by his side, seeming equal parts embarrassed and pleased, but her eyes twinkled as she lifted them to meet his gaze again.

"You could tell me why we're not leaving for another day. We'll be done with Morgan tomorrow morning, regardless, but we aren't leaving until the following day. Why is that?"

He struggled to maintain eye contact. He didn't want to ruin the surprise, but it felt wrong to only tell her a half truth.

"I thought we'd give Morgan some time to put things together if he wishes to ride back to Skyhold with us. Traveling with our group offers him protection he wouldn't have otherwise."

As he'd feared, her face fell, as did her eyes. "Oh. Yes. That makes sense."

He sat up and lifted her chin with a finger so her eyes once again met his. "I'm sure we'll find some way to pass the time. Perhaps even without the presence of four nosy lieutenants."

Her lips curved upward in a half smile. "That sounds nice."

Finally, he gave in to the urge and pressed his lips to hers. He tried not to let the kiss deepen - it would be easy to let things go too far as they sat on his bed, alone, in his room. Despite his intentions, however, Evana quickly moved to cup his face with one hand and wrap her other arm around his neck. He, in turn, pulled her from her kneeling position to sit on his lap. She gasped a little, and he knew then that she felt him and the need for her that had been building since she'd kissed his neck. Her kisses deepened even more, and he groaned a third time, but now for an entirely different reason.

_Don't... get carried... away... Maker..._

Cullen wrapped one arm tightly around her waist while the other moved around to cup her breast. He felt her nipple harden under his thumb, and she gasped against his lips and then whimpered as he rolled the sensitive bud lightly between his fingers through the fabric of her robes.

" _Cullen..._ "

He could feel himself slipping. He kept his hand in place but broke the kiss and placed his forehead against hers. The mingling of their breath in the otherwise silent room centered him as he slowly pulled his hand away from her and gripped at her waist instead. They were silent for some time, and he nearly gave in to the urge to start again.

"We should... get some sleep," he said instead.

It came out more as a question than a statement. She nodded slowly, and he struggled to keep his disappointment at bay.

"Yes," she agreed. "You especially. I had not meant to... I didn't come here to tax you further."

He chuckled softly as he moved his head to press light kisses across her cheek to her ear. "Perhaps not, but I'm glad you did."

She hummed her approval and then gently extracted herself from his arms. He let go rather unwillingly, keeping his hands on her until she slid out of his reach. She quirked a brow at him and pointed to the mug now sitting on his side table.

"Tea and then bed, Ser Rutherford."

He stood from the bed and bowed. "Yes, my lady."

She huffed in amusement and shook her head at him. He followed her to the door, grabbing her for one final kiss before she left. He locked the door behind her and then stood there for a long while afterward with his forehead pressed against the wood, sucking in deep breaths to calm himself.

 

**

 

Thankfully, no nightmares troubled his sleep, but the early night meant he was up before dawn the next morning. As usual, he couldn't fall back to sleep, so he got up and went for a run instead. He requested a bath be ready when he returned, and upon reaching his room once more, he found a small tub of warm water in which to bathe. He peeled off the sweaty tunic and breeches, cleaned himself, dressed in a fresh set of clothing and put on his armor before going downstairs to order breakfast and ensure Sandee had been able to procure the requested basket. She assured him it would be ready for him after breakfast, and he breathed a small sigh of relief. That part, at least, would go as planned.

Just before sunrise, Evana and four bleary-eyed lieutenants descended into the common area where Cullen sat eating his breakfast. They all ate in silence, and Cullen shook his head at their apparent lack of restraint the night before. They then returned to smith as the sun rose over the sleepy village and examined the armor. Evana and the lieutenants heartily approved the work. With a murmur that she would wait for him in the common room, Evana accompanied the soldiers back to the inn.

Cullen, eager to be done with this part of the trip, offered Morgan the job. After a short haggle over pay, Morgan gladly accepted and agreed to accompany them back to Skyhold immediately. His wife was less enthusiastic about the arrangement, but that was no concern of Cullen's. So, after telling Morgan to meet them at dawn the following day, he left the smith and his wife to work out the details.

As he walked back to the inn, his nervousness from before returned. The moment was nearly upon him. He sent up a small prayer that everything went as planned.

He found Evana at a front table in the common room and sat down on the opposite side of the table. He furrowed his brows as he looked around at the empty room. Anticipating his question, Evana laughed and motioned up the stairs.

"Your lieutenants have all gone back up to their rooms. Apparently, they had a bit of a late night."

He shook his head in exasperation, his voice gruff with disapproval. "They should be on guard, not spending the morning in bed after over imbibing."

But she just laughed again. "Oh, don't be too hard on them. They work hard for you - let them enjoy one day."

He sighed but then quirked an eyebrow at her. "Only if you'll do the same with me."

She gave him a confused look. "What do you mean?"

Just then, Sandee came up to him with a large basket. "Here's the basket you requested, Commander. You two enjoy your day!"

She winked at him, and Cullen looked back at Evana. "What I mean is would you care to join me for a picnic and a tour of the place where I grew up?"

A slow smile emerged as she finally understood. "You _planned_ a day for us?"

"I did. I hope that's alright?"

"It's more than alright," she responded softly.

Offering her his arm, he led her out the door and down the path he used to run almost daily as a child. The morning mist burned off quickly, and the early spring chill showed every sign of giving way to a bright and beautiful day. As they walked slowly down the path, he spoke to her of his childhood, sharing anecdotes that came to mind as they passed by familiar landmarks. The path, still well-traveled near the town, turned into a narrow lane as they walked further from the village. They meandered down the tree-lined lane, chatting and enjoying the day and the time alone with each other.

Finally, he stopped in a small clearing. Amazingly, it seemed just as he remembered it. The mid-morning sun had nearly evaporated all the dew, but a few drops clung to those first flashes of green dotting the winter-browned meadow. Puffy white clouds hung in the brilliant blue sky overhead, and the surrounding trees, tipped with slices of green leaves emerging from swollen buds, lent a secret and secluded atmosphere to the open space.

"Mia, Branson and I used to play here a lot. We'd take turns being knights and princesses, animals and hunters, and everything else you can imagine."

"It's lovely," she breathed.

"I thought you might like it."

He pulled a blanket from the top of the basket and laid it out in the sunlight. They sat down facing each other, and Cullen let the memories take over. He told her of their early mornings on the farm, of Wintersend celebrations and birthday parties, of Mia's insistence that they help Cullen train every afternoon, of his mother singing Rosalie lullabies at night and how they would all fall asleep to the sound of her voice, of the fantastical stories his father would tell them around the hearth on cold winter nights.

Cullen wondered that Evana never seemed to get bored, and in fact, she watched him in rapt attention, laughing at all the right times and asking deeper questions if she didn't understand a custom or tradition. Before he knew it, the sun had climbed high in the sky, and they still hadn't eaten their picnic. His stomach growled loudly, and they both laughed and dove into the large basket full of various small packets of cheeses, meats, breads, pickled and brined vegetables in crocks, tiny cakes, cookies and other sundries. As they ate, she asked him a more pointed question.

"With everything that's happening... do you know if your family is alright?"

"I've received word from Mia. She was always good at tracking me down. South Reach has experienced the same chaos as everywhere else, but my family is fine. I pray they remain so."

"Your sister 'tracked you down'? She didn't know where you were?"

"I let her know I was in Haven. She assumed I survived." He looked at her sheepishly. "It's not the first time. I _may_ have neglected to tell her when I was transferred to Kirkwall."

"You weren't in a good state, then, though."

"No, I wasn't. I wanted only to leave. I received an angry letter about my 'disappearance' two years later. For all her reprimands, it was a relief to hear from someone who knew me before the Blight. I credit her with helping me get past the most trying time. Her letters reminded me of who I'd once been. I knew I couldn't go back to that, but it helped to remember the good things in the midst of the bad."

Her face was full of understanding, but she asked no further questions. They ate their fill, and finally, after a few minutes of simply sitting together in satiated silence, he stood and held out his hand to her.

"I know it's not really there anymore, but I'd like to show you the farm. It's not far. We can come back for these things."

They meandered down the path a little further to another opening. A fallen down house and a few outbuildings were all that remained. Cullen felt a pang of sadness at the state of his childhood home. Mia, Branson and Rosalie had built new lives for themselves in South Reach, but this was where he'd grown up. They walked around the house and all over the overgrown grounds. Finally, they sat outside the house on a fallen log as more memories flooded his brain.

They began trading stories then - he would tell a childhood anecdote, and she would return with a similar one from her own past. If she had nothing similar, she would choose something as close as she could. In that one afternoon, they learned more about each other than at any other one time. Listening to her describe her place in the clan - included but outside, a part of and yet separate from - he began to understand her better. He quietly hoped that, even though he didn't feel much like that boy anymore, his stories led her to understand him better, too.

Finally, as the sun began to fall toward the horizon, he stood up and offered his hand once more. "There's one more place I want to show you."

She smiled up at him, her face more relaxed than he'd ever seen it before. She looked so lovely in the golden light of late afternoon that he stood there for a moment after she'd stood up and simply held her hand and gazed at her. After a moment, a tinge of pink suffused her cheeks, and her gaze fell from his.

"Do I have something on my face?"

"No. I just like looking at you. Most of the time, I can't. Not like I want to. Not like this."

He wrapped an arm around her as their hands remained entwined and kissed her softly. She lifted her other hand to cup his cheek and rose up on her toes to deepen the kiss. A few moments later, he let out a tremulous breath and pulled away, laughing breathily.

"Come. It's not far."

He pulled her gently into the forest on an even smaller path. They had to walk single file, but finally, they emerged into a clearing where a river had expanded into a large lake. The distant rush of water as it continued down the river's path reached his ears, and suddenly, he felt 13 all over again. He walked toward a small dock where a local fisherman had left some gear. The pinks and oranges of sunset surrounded them, but the unseasonable warmth of the day radiated up from the ground, enfolding them in an ethereal kind of haze as the warm air met the cold water.

"Where are we?" she asked quietly.

"You walk into danger every day. I wanted to take you away from that. If only for a moment. This place was always quiet."

"Did you come here often?"

Cullen looked out over the lake. The distant, childlike voices of his brother and sisters played on the edges of his mind as the corner of his mouth lifted in a rueful smirk.

"I loved my siblings, but as you could no doubt tell from my stories, they were very loud. I would come here to clear my head." He laughed a little. "Of course, they always found me eventually."

"You were happy here."

It was a statement, and he could not deny it. Nostalgia mixed with a real sense of having never been truly happy anywhere else... until recently.

"I was. And I still am... here with you."

She smiled at him, but her arms wrapped around her waist. He recognized the motion as one of insecurity for her, and his mind clouded with concern. He wanted this to be a happy moment for her, but clearly something troubled her mind. He didn't have to wait long to know what it was.

"Here. Away from everything - alone with a mage. That... that doesn't concern you?"

Cullen's gut constricted. "I am no longer bound by the Order or its rules."

"I know, but... you've seen the worst mages have to offer. Can you not see that in me? Do you not worry I'll-"

He cut her off before she could speak it. "I don't. If I've given you reason to doubt..."

He sighed and raised his hand to the back of his neck. He wished he could do more to reassure her. Were his actions still betraying some sort of bias? Probably. As much as he tried to overcome it, he couldn't deny that bias existed - might always exist on some level.

"Of course I have," he murmured under his breath. Turning to face her, he took her hand. "Whatever I fear of magic, I see _none_ of that in you."

She turned to look at him. Her face contorted into a look he'd not seen since their early walks in Haven - something like a mixture of fear and doubt.

"So, if I were possessed by a demon, you would..."

This was certainly not the direction he'd wanted this evening to go. He felt the air around him become heavy and chill as he pulled in a deep breath. Images from his nightmares of her as an abomination danced in the back of his brain. His voice turned low and pleading.

"Please. Don't ask me this."

"Cullen, how can I _not_?" He still couldn't bring himself to respond, and she looked out over the still waters. Her voice was heartbreakingly quiet as she added, "I think I know the answer."

Cullen pulled her hand. She resisted a little, but after a few seconds she came to him, resting her forehead and other hand on his breastplate as their hands remained entwined. He lifted her chin to look at him. The emotions swirling violently in his head came through in his voice as he looked into her distressed eyes.

"I don't think you do. It's not that simple... and... I could ask you the same. If I were captured and irreversibly tainted with red lyrium, could _you_ do what needed to be done?"

She breathed out a few panicky little breaths. Clearly, the reverse situation hadn't occurred to her. He sighed heavily and pulled her against him.

"Please..." he pleaded softly. "I would rather not think of it."

"Yes... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... Today was so perfect, and I've ruined it."

Cullen pulled back to give her a sad smile. "Not ruined. Just diverted. I understand why you felt the need to ask, but... shall we look at the pretty lake and pretend we aren't in a horrific, bloody war with a darkspawn magister for a little longer?"

She laughed tremulously, nodded and whispered, "Yes, please."

He turned to face the lake, placing his arm around her waist to pull her to his side. After a few silent minutes, the mood seemed to lighten a bit. Her body relaxed into his, and he wished not for the first time today that they could risk taking off their armor. Even in the sleepy south, however, they were too exposed.

Another memory, the one he particularly wanted to share with her, intruded on his thoughts. His voice was slow and quiet as he began speaking.

"The last time I was here was the day I left for templar training." He reached in his pocket and fished out the coin, and she turned to watch what he was doing. "My brother gave me this. It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck. Templars are not supposed to carry such things. Our faith should see us through."

Her voice echoed his quiet tone. "A little luck can't hurt every now and then, even if it means breaking the rules."

He smiled. "I suppose not. Until a year ago, I was very _good_ at following rules. Most of the time." He chuckled and then held up the coin in his hand. "This was the only thing I took from Ferelden that the templars didn't give me."

Pulling away a little, he held the coin out to her. "Humor me? We don't know what you'll face before the end. This can't hurt."

She looked at his hand and then back up to him, a strange expression on her face. Cullen's heart jumped into his throat as he considered, for the first time, that she might not actually _take_ the coin. _Why didn't I think of that before?_

"But... what about your luck?" she asked tentatively.

"I'd rather you have it."

She paused and looked at the coin in his palm a moment more. Then, she tentatively reached out.

"If you're sure..."  
  
He felt a wave of relief wash over him as she took the coin and squeezed it in her palm.

"I am," he assured her.

"Then, I'll keep it safe."

She found an empty pocket in her armored coat and slipped the coin inside. He reached for her, and she didn't resist him this time.  
  
"Good. I know it's foolish, but... I'm glad."

She raised her face to him, and he slowly bent down to kiss her. He poured all the reassurance and love he could into that kiss and was relieved to find she did not hesitate with him as he feared she might. The kiss began to turn heated, so he pulled away slightly, pressing a dozen small kisses all over her upturned face. He was glad to see that her relaxed look had returned.

"Ma serannas, Cullen. This day is perhaps one of the loveliest things anyone has ever done for me. It rivals even your garden surprise. And the coin is... it means so much that you would give me the only thing you still have from your childhood." She paused as her hand rested over the pocket containing the treasure. "And you're really sure...?"

Cullen nodded his head and smiled at her. "Yes. I need you to always come back to me, Evana. And... actually, there's something more..."

She furrowed her brow. "More?"

"I..." He cleared his suddenly tight throat and continued, "I commissioned an amulet to hold the coin. It wasn't quite finished by the time we had to leave, but it should be ready by the time we get back to Skyhold."

Her mouth parted in surprise, and Cullen took the opportunity to kiss her again. When he lifted his head, he was distressed to find tears running down her face.

"W-what's wrong?"

"Nothing... oh, nothing. Everything is right, for once. What did I do to deserve you, vhenan?"

The honesty in her expression took his breath away. She truly felt unworthy of _him_? His voice was thick with emotion as he responded.

"I ask myself the same thing every day."

And he kissed her again and again until the reality of the dusky twilight surrounding them drew him unwillingly to thoughts of returning to the inn. They walked back to the clearing, gathered their things, and then returned to the village in near silence. Small touches and tiny caresses filled his senses and warmed him as they clung to one another. He looked at her often - because right now, he _could_ \- and tried to memorize how her hair and face shone in the light of the rising moons.

During that walk, a small flicker of an idea - a dream, really - floated into his consciousness of a future filled with days like this one. Throughout their journey back to Skyhold, the dream stayed with him. It grew broader to include a small home, perhaps a farm, in some warm, sunny place. He imagined animals, maybe a dog, and... he stopped his thoughts there. _Don't get ahead of yourself, Rutherford._

But as they rode on, Cullen knew that he would keep that dream close to his heart. And perhaps one day, he would share it with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My life is still sort of a mess right now, but I can't give up on these two.
> 
> Also, I'm still plugging away at my other long fic as well. Chapters 11 and 12 of Part 2 of the Revelations series - [Truths Half Told Beget Lives Half Lived](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9047525/chapters/26387667) \- are set during the events of chapter 51.


	52. In which there’s no such thing as perfect

On the sixth and final day of their journey, Evana and Cullen entered the gates of Skyhold well after sunset. The greeting party mostly consisted of a few soldiers waiting to consult with Cullen, but to her delight, Harritt had come up to greet them as well. He squeezed her shoulder with a gravelly "welcome back," and then, with very little ceremony beyond a quick wink at Evana, Harritt handed off a small package to Cullen. Before she could ask any questions, the blacksmith then whisked Morgan off to the Undercroft while talking excitedly about 24-hour shifts around the forge.

Evana turned to Cullen and found him staring down at the small package as a soldier at his elbow rattled off something about breaks in the guard rotation. Cullen lifted his head, eyes finding hers immediately, and gave her a small, secret smile. The soldier beside him cut off abruptly as Cullen stepped toward her.

"I have to do rounds and catch up, and no doubt Josephine and Leliana will want to meet as soon as possible, but... meet me in my office later tonight?"

"Of course. I've got my own rounds to do." With a quick glance at the soldier, she smiled at Cullen and softened her voice. "I’ll see you later."

Evana had just finished checking in with Cole, Sera, and Bull when, sure enough, Leliana’s runner arrived with a request that they meet as soon as possible. In the shortest meeting in Inquisition history, Leliana and Josephine briefed Cullen and Evana on business that had occurred while they were away. Leliana ended the meeting by assuring her she would let Evana know the instant she heard anything about Wycome. As they all filed out of the war room, Cullen gave her an inviting look.

"I'll be there shortly," she assured him.

He tilted his head and gave her a crooked smile that made her heart flutter. As he walked away, she heard a small sigh behind her and turned to find Josie looking at her with a sappy smile of her own.

"You two are just... well... perfect."

Evana laughed. "No one's perfect, Josie... but I am pretty over the moons for him." Then, shooting Josie a conspiratorial look, she added, "If you'll be up later tonight, I'll have something to show you."

Josie gave an excited little gasp. "Oh! Yes, I should be up quite late tonight writing letters."

"Good. Until later, then."

Josie's giggle followed Evana as she walked out of the office and up the stairs to her quarters. She'd not been able to get upstairs since they'd returned, so she took a moment to unpack her bags. Then, she changed from her armor into more a casual tunic and breeches, picked up one of the three new piles of reports on her desk and headed back down to Cullen's office. He was sitting at his desk, bent over paperwork when she arrived.

"That's my Commander. Already hard at work. Anything interesting to report so far?"

Cullen sat up and then leaned back in his chair as she walked toward him. "As much as it pains me to admit, I'm glad we were able to secure the Orlesians as allies. I've received word from the Imperial army. They are ready to march with the Inquisition when called upon. Also, it seems that all your footholds outside Skyhold have increased our reputation. We're receiving reports that people view us as a stabilizing force, which means another round of recruits has arrived eager to pledge themselves to our cause. It looks like we obtained the new smith just in time."

Evana sat on the back edge of his desk, facing him. "Sounds like we should leave Skyhold more often, then. What do you say? The Commander and Inquisitor, cutting down demons and red templars all the way across Ferelden and Orlais."

Cullen gave her a wry smile. "If my duties didn't keep me chained to this desk, I would be at your side in a moment."

Abruptly, he stood, took the papers from her hands and laid them on his chair. Then he took her hand and led her to the fire. The small box Harritt had handed to Cullen sat untouched on the mantle, and she tried not to stare at it. She blushed when she turned to find him watching her with an expression that seemed to be a mixture of adoration and amusement. Finally, he reached up and pulled the box from the shelf.

"I wish I'd been able to give you this the other night, but as it is..."

She smiled as he handed her the box and then internally cursed her silly nerves as her hands trembled when she lifted the lid. She gasped.

"Cullen! It's... is that _my_ design? Oh! And the Inquisition sunburst... and... wait... is that...?"

"A lion to match my helmet. I wish I could take credit, but I merely handed Harritt the coin and asked him to make something of it. Dagna might've helped."

She could only stare at it, then back to him, then back at the amulet. It was a representation of... them. A little of him, a little of her, and a bit of the Inquisition. Harritt had captured it perfectly.

"It's imbued with a Lifeward, courtesy of Dagna," he explained a little nervously when she didn't respond. "Do you have the coin?"

With another gasp, she suddenly shoved the box back at him and ran out of the office. His surprised laughter followed her out the door as she flew back to her quarters, retrieved the coin from her armor and ran back downstairs. This time, she slowed to a fast walk when passing through the great hall, but several people, including Varric sitting at his regular table, gave her odd looks. She didn't care. Suddenly, nothing seemed more important than getting back to Cullen with the coin now squeezed tightly in her fist. She rushed through Solas' empty study and arrived back in his office out of breath.

"Here... it is..."

Cullen gave her an amused look, but merely took the coin from her and placed it inside the clever compartment Harritt had designed. Both sides were visible, but Cullen placed the image of Andraste facing out. Evana was, after all, supposed to be the prophet's Herald. She then turned around and let him place the necklace around her neck. After he fastened the clasp of the silverite chain, his fingers lingered on her neck before sliding down to grasp her shoulders. Lips brushed against the side of her neck as he turned her to face him.

"Mmmm... your doors are still unlocked, Commander."

He let out a small groan and then lifted his head to smile at her. "And I've got six days of paperwork to get through."

He didn't move away immediately, however. One hand moved down to rest on her hip, and the other moved to touch the amulet where it lay between her breasts. A shiver danced down her spine as his fingertips ghosted across the fabric of her tunic when he picked it up.

"It looks good on you," he murmured, his voice low and a little breathless.

"It's perfect, Cullen," she assured him.

Without thinking, she bit her lip, and suddenly, his eyes were on her lips. He bent down and brushed his mouth gently over hers as his hand moved from the amulet to cup her face. The air in the room suddenly felt hot, and she lifted her hands to rest them on his cool breastplate. He pulled away slightly, and the intense, almost pained look in his eyes reminded her of Haven, of their moment in the Chantry when she'd felt he might be trying to tell her something...

"Evana..."

The strain in his voice told her he was struggling with something, but she was unsure of how to help him. His thumb ghosted across her cheek as he shook his head and started again.

"Evana... I..."

He took a deep, tremulous breath, closed his eyes, and rested his forehead on hers. She moved a hand up to his cheek and felt his jaw clench and unclench repeatedly under her palm. She was about to speak when he suddenly broke away from her, took her hand from his face, kissed her palm and looked down at her with a small smile.

"I'm glad you like it."

Something had happened. But she was at a loss as to what.

"I do," she finally said. "I love it..." She paused, hoping he might continue, but clearly the moment had passed. "Now, shall we get some work done?"

"We?"

"I brought some of my reports down. I thought I might read them in one of your fluffy chairs by your fire... unless you'd rather I not..."

"No! No, I... that's... I'd love for you to stay."

She raised up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips before retrieving her papers from his chair and settling by the fire. He moved to his desk and shot her another small smile before diving back into his reports. The chairs, arranged to face each other next to the fire, allowed her to glance over at him occasionally. Several times throughout the evening, she found his eyes already turned in her direction, a distant look clouding his expression. She wondered if she were distracting him or if he were thinking of something else entirely.

Eventually, her pile of unread reports dwindled. Giving in to the lateness of the hour, she began preparing to head back to her quarters when Cullen let out a pleased shout.

"Ha! Evana, look at this." He quickly crossed the small space between them and crouched at the arm of her chair. "The smugglers we interrogated gave up the red templars' main source of lyrium. It's located in the Dales, near a town called Sahrnia. Destroying the mine there will _cripple_ Samson's operations."

She couldn't help smiling at his enthusiasm. "Excellent! I'll investigate the mine on the way to the Western Approach."

"Destroying their source of lyrium will be a loss Samson won't soon forget!"

"Indeed. And we'll be taking out Corypheus' main source of troops. If we can break down the red templars _and_ the Grey Wardens, he'll have to start all over. We'll have him at a disadvantage. We should call a war council meeting for tomorrow and discuss logistics."

"Yes," he agreed eagerly. "The sooner the better. I already sent Malia away, though..."

Evana stood from the chair. "Oh, I'm done with my first round of reports, so I was thinking of heading back to my quarters anyway. I'll stop by Josie's office on the way and let her know."

Cullen was still kneeling beside the chair, so she leaned down to kiss him. It was a strange feeling to be the one bending down instead of straining to reach up to him. The amulet swung back and forth between them, and he broke from her lips to catch it and look at it again. A smirk slowly spread across his face. She placed a final kiss on his smirking lips and backed away, smiling.

"Goodnight, Commander," she murmured.

"Goodnight, Inquisitor," he answered in a low, silky voice that sorely tested her restraint.

Overcoming the urge to run back to him, she turned and left him to his work. As she made her way back to the great hall, she paused in the empty rotunda, noting the all the things so quintessentially _Solas_ \- books open and stacked on tables, bundles of paper filled with notes, elven artifacts strewn in all corners, paints stashed under scaffolding - still hovering in the silence, waiting for his return.

The longer he stayed away, the less likely it was he would return. A nomad like him would have no compunction about leaving these items behind - leaving them all behind. A strange and uncomfortable ache pierced her heart, and she hurried out of the room.  
  
"Hey there, Snowflake," Varric called to her as she entered the hall. "Care to share what was so important earlier this evening?"

Evana blushed and sat down next to Varric with a huff. "I'd forgotten something in my room. And I needed it for this."

She picked up the chain and held it out so Varric could see the amulet. It was small, only a little bigger than the coin itself, but the gold and silverite embellishments shone brightly in the candlelight making it almost shimmer. He let out a low whistle.

"That is something. Where'd you get it?"

She blushed a deeper shade of red. "I'll give you one guess."

"Curly?" She nodded, and Varric shook his head in disbelief. "Every time I think I've got him figured out, he goes and does something like this. You'll have to show it to her in person, because Hawke won't believe it otherwise."

Evana laughed and then sobered. "Speaking of... We'll be discussing the timeline for marching on Adamant tomorrow. We may be stopping in the Dales to shut down a red lyrium mine on the way, so we'll have to leave sooner rather than later. Are you prepared?"

"Bianca and I are at your service and ecstatic for another chance to destroy more of that sick shit, Snowflake. Just say the word."

"Good. I'll update you tomorrow. I have to go speak with Josie."

"Oh, yeah. Don't keep her waiting. She'll probably die from swooning."

She gave him a serious look. "You know, she just might."

Leaving him with a quick wink, she walked to Josie's office. The ambassador was still working at her desk, as promised.

"Inquisit- I mean... Evana. You said you had... Oh!"

Evana had merely held up the amulet as she'd done for Varric, and Josie was transfixed. She rushed out from behind her desk to examine the amulet up close.

"Oh, this is so perfect! So symbolic! And Cullen had it made for you?"

"Yes. He commissioned it from Harritt. He assured me he had little to do with the design of the amulet, but it's really the coin that's important to me anyway."

Josie furrowed her brow. "The coin? Oh, there in the middle! What's the significance of the coin?"  
  
"It was his lucky coin. His brother gave it to him right before he left for templar training. Now he's given it to me - that's what the trip was for. Or part of the reason anyway. He took me to a lake he used to go to when he was a child and gave it to me. For luck. So I always come back to him."

Josie let out a long, wistful sigh. "So romantic. Cullen is a much more complicated man than I gave him credit for."

Evana smiled as Josie continued to look over the amulet, and then remembered her charge from Cullen. "Not to switch too abruptly to business matters, but I also wanted to tell you that Cullen wishes to have a war council meeting tomorrow to discuss taking out Samson's red lyrium supply. Can you let Leliana know?"

"Of course. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Not tonight. It's been a long day, so I think I'll turn in. I'll see you in the morning."

Josie wished her a good night, and Evana headed upstairs, her mind still racing from the implications of the last few days. Most particularly, she couldn't stop thinking about that small moment when Cullen had seemed to want to say... something. As she prepared for bed, a mixture of excitement and panic welled up in her chest. If his demeanor was any indication, it was important. She didn't know what had stopped him, so she could only hope that he would try to speak with her some other time. Creators knew she had a few things she needed to bring up with him as well, and she hadn't managed it so far. They had so little time together - so few stolen, happy moments - bringing up difficult topics seemed cruel to both of them. Her bungled attempt by the lake was evidence enough of that. Perhaps that's what had stopped him? Perhaps he hadn't wanted to ruin the moment with a difficult discussion?

With a deep sigh, she crawled between her thick blankets, still pondering the question as she drifted into the Fade.

 

**

 

At the war council meeting, they'd decided that, instead of the Hissing Wastes, Evana would set off for the Emprise Du Lion - to Sahrnia - to investigate the mines and then meet the Inquisition forces at Griffon Wing Keep three weeks after they'd all departed. It would take the army at least that long to get there, marching several hundreds of miles across Orlais and picking up a contingent of Orlesian chevaliers at Halamshiral on the way. Cullen's forces would join with the troops already full to bursting out of the Keep. With the help of the new smith, Morgan, they would attack Adamant in approximately one month's time.

The next few days were full of preparing for the coming assault. Cullen worked tirelessly through every waking hour, and though she spent many hours drinking tea with him and working in one of his chairs by the fire, she felt as if she hadn't really seen him in days.

So she focused on her duties and caught up on her own work. She visited with nobles at Josie's behest, practiced magic daily with Dorian - and once with Vivienne, though that didn't go well - and finally met with Bull and an elven Qunari ambassador about a rather shocking offer to ally with the Qunari. They all agreed to wait until after the assault to make any moves, but it was an intriguing offer to say the least. And a risky one. Trusting the Qunari didn't come naturally for good reason.

Evana had also continued her combat training with Cassandra. Now that Evana had expressed an interest in becoming a Knight Enchanter, the Seeker, satisfied with her competency at hand-to-hand, had switched to teaching her sword play. Cullen often tried to join them for a few minutes here and there, but something always pulled him away. He'd shoot her an apologetic half-smile and head off to deal with whatever emergency had cropped up in the ten minutes since he'd left his desk.

Now, as she worked through the new forms with the Seeker only three days before leaving for the Emprise, worry ate at the back of her mind that they'd still heard nothing from her clan or Leliana's scouts. She'd known it would take time but had hoped for _some_ news, even if just to say that things were progressing. Despite how fervently she tried to ignore it, the lack of communication left her to wonder and even, in her most honest moments, to despair. In this case, no news usually meant bad news.

And as she sat in her chair by the fire in Cullen’s office later that night, she mentally prepared herself for the worst when Harvil arrived with a message from Leliana.

"Sister Leliana requests your immediate presence in the war room, Your Worship. And yours as well, Commander. She said to tell you it's about Wycome."

Evana shot a nervous look at Cullen, but he was already walking out from behind his desk, holding out his hand for her to join him. They walked quickly, hand-in-hand, to the war room. She didn't even care what the nobles might say if they saw. His hand was the only thing keeping her grounded. Leliana started speaking before Cullen had even closed the door behind them.

"Inquisitor, I've just received word from my agent in Wycome. I thought you'd like to know as soon as possible that your clan is safe... for the moment. As with each time we act, it seems the peace is tenuous, but they should be secure for the time being."

Evana reached the table and immediately slumped over it. Holding herself up with her arms, her head dangled as a powerful, weak-kneed relief washed over her and left her reeling. Despite the warning in Leliana's voice, a huge weight seemed to lift from Evana’s shoulders. She breathed deeply.

"What happened?" she asked when she’d finally mastered herself. "Did they get inside the city?"

"Yes, the clan was smuggled inside the city and ended up joining forces with the city elves. They organized a strike at the Duke and his red lyrium supplies. The humans in the city quickly joined with the elves once they saw the contaminated wells. The Duke and his retinue - some of whom were Venatori - are now dead. For now, the Dalish are heros of Wycome, but the nobles that fled the fighting will undoubtedly return at some point."

A small silence joined them as Evana tried to process both the information and her reaction to it. Josephine piped up.

"What can we do in the meantime?"

Leliana placed one of her markers near Wycome on the map. "My agents will remain in the area and continue to watch and listen. Perhaps a note to your Keeper that she should keep our agents apprised of any issues would be helpful?"

Leliana was looking at her now. Evana tried to stand up straight, willing her feeble legs to hold her.

"Of course, I'll write a message first thing in the morning. Thank you again for all your efforts to address not only the Venatori threat but also the danger to my clan. This has been a nerve-wracking situation. Is there anything else I should know?"

"No, Inquisitor. That was all for now."

"Very good. I'll... be in my quarters if anyone needs me."

"Yes, Inquisitor."

She flicked her eyes to Cullen and gave him weak smile as she passed, but his gaze held a mixture of sympathy and vague confusion that she couldn't handle. The strength of her feelings threatening to overwhelm her, she looked away, walking quickly through to the great hall.

At her own door, she nodded stiffly to the guards - a new addition since their win at Orlais. Leliana had insisted that some Orlesians would likely put out contracts on her life for supporting Celene and exiling Gaspard. The guards were an extra precaution, and a good one, but tonight, she wished they hadn't been there to witness how she was falling apart. She didn't want _anyone_ to see her so out of control.

Once past the guards and through the door, Evana dashed up the steps at full speed. When she finally reached her bed, tired and out of breath, she fell into the soft blankets and listened to the rushing of blood through her ears.

Her clan was safe for now. It should make her happy, of course, but she hadn't expected this level of relief, the physical weakness in her body, the trembling rush of adrenaline. Why this time? Why had this not happened the many other times her clan had been saved from danger?

A ball of guilt wound around itself in her gut. Was it because she had convinced herself she wasn't that connected anymore? That what happened to them was only of cursory concern? The clan's welfare would always be important, but she hadn't allowed herself think of them as more important than anyone else for quite some time now.

Clearly, she'd just been lying to herself. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she thought of the clan children, likely scared out of their minds at the sudden move to such an unfamiliar place - a city of all places - and the imminent danger. How many clan members had lost their lives in assassinating the Duke and his Venatori? Five? Ten? Twenty? Clan Lavellan wasn't as small as some of the other Dalish clans, but the loss of ten or twenty in such a tight-knit community would be devastating.

She knew that from experience.

And now she'd done it to them again. Her involvement in these shemlen affairs had put her clan in danger. Likely they blamed her even more than before. The tears flowed more freely now as she curled into a ball on her bed. Deep sobs wracked her body even as she tried to tell herself they were safe, they were protected. For now.

The sound of footsteps on her stairs forced her to try to control herself. She sat up and realized the only light in the room was the roaring fire.

"Evana?" came a soft, familiar voice from the stairs.

She quickly wiped her face with her sleeve and met Cullen at the top of the stairs. He immediately pulled her into a fierce hug. He'd apparently left his armor downstairs somewhere, and the firm reality of his body against hers calmed her more than anything else could.

"What's wrong, vhenan?" he asked softly.

How could she explain this to him, of all people? It was too much.

"I- I can't... please, just hold me?"

Cullen swept her into his arms and carried her back to her bed. Instead of tucking her in, however, he sat next to her, pulled off his boots and then crawled into the bed beside her. She pulled herself up against him and nestled her face in the crook of his neck. His arm wrapped around her and gently stroked her back as she entwined her legs with his.

"Stay with me?" she whispered tentatively. She felt him swallow and tense a little, and she instantly felt guilty. "We don't need to do anything, just sleep... or if you'd rather not-"

He tightened his arm around her gently. "It's not that. I... I want to stay. It's only that I often have... violent nightmares. I wouldn't wish to disturb you... or... hurt you."

She pulled her head back to look at him in the dim glow of the firelight. "Ir abelas, vhenan. I didn't know it was that bad. Is that why you don't sleep much?"

"Yes. That and the insomnia due to the withdrawal. The tea helps with that. It's nothing to worry about. I just want to ensure you are well."

Evana reached up and quickly wiped away a few extra tears that escaped from her eyes at his kindness. "It's nothing, vhenan. I'm fine. Please, if you need to go..."

Cullen pulled her back to him. "I can stay as long as you need me."

 _Forever, then?_ But she didn't dare say it. She smiled into his neck and breathed in the heady smell of leather and smoke and oakmoss salve mixed with his own musky scent. She would never get tired of it.

Her mind began to wander as she let the rhythmic sound of his breathing lull her into a doze. The amulet slid out of her tunic and thudded gently onto the bed - a reminder of his claim on her. She knew he hadn't meant it or the coin as a proposal, but her clan would see it that way if they knew. She couldn't help feeling the importance of it - and more than him offering it, she'd accepted it. He didn't understand, didn't know, the significance. But it had been significant to her. It was her final renunciation of her clan and of her duty to the People. She was his, to the exclusion of all others, and he was hers. As important as her clan was, he was more important to her now.

Perhaps that was part of this sudden guilt. She had chosen a human, even after all the lessons from Keeper about her duty as an elf - the duty to procreate with another elf, to strengthen the People and not sully the bloodline.

But how could she _not_ choose him? His quiet strength in the face of all his responsibilities, his compassion for the weak and needy, his overwhelmingly generous heart... despite his flaws, it would be madness to reject a man like Cullen. Not to mention how her own heart yearned for him when they were apart and how full and content she felt at his side.

The idea of a person filling her in such a way had always seemed ridiculous to her. She'd heard couples in her clan speak of such things with their chosen bondmate. Now she finally understood what they meant, but it was with her human lover, not an elven bondmate. They would be shunned by both humans and elves.

Despite the assurances of the Champion, the open hostility for elf and human liaisons from both elves _and_ humans troubled her. Not as much for herself, necessarily, but for Cullen. She was used to the derision of others, but the hateful messages Cullen had already received were proof enough that she had reason to worry for him as well. The walls of Skyhold and the kind people within those walls insulated them from prying eyes and most of the derogatory remarks. But if they defeated Corypheus, what would become of the Inquisition? The insults and condescension of the Winter Palace paled in comparison to the harsh realities of a world in which she was no longer needed. A world in which she was simply an elf with a human lover.

She didn't worry for him finding another position. If they survived this ordeal, he would have his pick of any of the top military positions in Thedas. But that didn't guarantee an upstart elf mage with a useless mark would be welcomed with him. Would it decrease his opportunity? Would he be openly ridiculed for choosing her? Would his family reject her... as hers would him? Another thought pushed in from somewhere deep in her subconscious, and she felt her pulse and breathing quicken as her conscious mind recognized it.

What about any children they might have?

Children of elves and humans were essentially human. Half elven people could pass themselves off as human if no one knew who their parents were. But her child - Cullen's child... everyone in Thedas would know the son or daughter of the Inquisition Commander and the Herald of Andraste. She could hope that their titles and positions of respect would mitigate some of the discrimination he or she would face, but that wasn't the only worry.

_What if their child were a mage?_

She would never allow any child of hers to go to a Circle. Not _ever_. But if the Circles were reinstated, would he try to force the issue? What did he even believe now that the mages had been with them for months without incident? His words by the lake haunted her - "Whatever I fear of magic..."

Which meant he still feared magic. As well he would after having experienced the worst of mages. But how could she be sure how he would react to magic from his own child, especially as the child was learning to control his/her powers? The process could be messy, and extra precautions had to be taken to make sure a young mage didn't harm themselves or others. But the Dalish knew all this and had processes in place to mitigate the chance for harm. Would he even allow her the opportunity to prove she could train a mage without interference?

As long as she led the Inquisition, she would work to keep the mages free. She would work with Fiona to create safe processes and education for young mages. Up to now, Cullen had always supported her decisions, even if he didn't agree with them. But would he shun that path when she was no longer in a position of power? When it was just _her_ asking him to believe in a world where mages could be free?

And how could she bring up such subjects? It seemed even more impossible than talking about her clan right now. They'd been together for months, known and trusted each other for months before that, but in reality, they saw little of each other. Everything still felt so fragile, so new.

Evana gently wrapped a slender arm around his waist and snuggled further into his body. She felt him shift slightly. His breathing was even, but she couldn't tell if that meant he was asleep or simply relaxed. This was the first time she'd really had the opportunity to find out.

"Cullen?" she whispered as softly as she could manage.

The answer was immediate, and his voice reverberated through her body as she pressed against him. "I'm awake."

"May I ask you something?"

"Always."

She tried to think of how to lead into her questions, but couldn't think of anything relevant. So, she just asked the first question and braced herself for the answer.

"The Inquisition won't last forever. If we survive... what will you do when this is over?"

It took him a moment to answer. She didn't dare lift her head to look in his face. Finally, he spoke hesitantly.

"To be honest, I hadn't given it much thought until recently. I'm not used to having so many... possibilities."

She hoped he would continue, but he seemed content to let the response rest there. She couldn't help pushing just a little.

"You could go to Orlais. Be Celene's military advisor. I'm sure the chevaliers would follow you around the Winter Palace like loyal little Mabari puppies."

Cullen chuckled weakly, and then she felt him shiver slightly. "I'd be perfectly happy never again setting foot in the Winter Palace. It wasn't the gossip and backstabbing - I know what the Game entails. But the indifference to it all... no... I don't think there's anything in Orlais for me."

"At least there was dancing."

Cullen laughed outright. "Or an attempt at it, anyway."

Evana shrugged. "I thought you did well."

"Well, I'm grateful for your poor taste in dance partners."

It hadn't been the direction she'd hoped to go, but she was pleased to have made him laugh. In the small pause that followed, he began rubbing small circles on her back, and she had to force herself to focus on her questions instead of his hands.

He hadn't "given it much thought until recently." Did that mean he was thinking about it because of her? Or was there another reason?

"You've certainly become more... Er... _popular_ since our time with the Empress."

He actually groaned at this. "Don't remind me. Leliana is currently collecting all the marriage proposals into a file so she can use me for bait in her little intrigues. You heard her at the war council meeting a few days ago - telling me to 'hush' and 'just look pretty.' I might as well be a piece of meat."

Evana snickered a little, but sobered immediately. "You've received other types of messages since then as well. Not so nice ones."

He went completely still. "Leliana told you about that?"

"I asked."

"How did you know?" he asked, confusion tingeing his voice.

Evana finally pulled away to look at him, propped herself on her elbow, and smiled at him sadly. "I'm not naive, Cullen. I'm a mage. On top of that, I'm an elf, and incidents like the one at the inn are not a new experience for me. It would be odd if the rumors about us _didn't_ generate hateful messages. I know you don't care, but a lot of other people do."

Cullen let out a violent puff of air followed by a vehement, " _Fuck_ them. All of them."

Evana couldn't stifle her surprised laughter nor the teasing in her tone. "Creators! Such a dirty mouth, Commander!"

He gave her a half smile, but the look of anger mixed with sadness remained. He reached up to caress her cheek, and she closed her eyes to revel in the feel of his calloused fingers. A tendril of heat shot through her belly, but she ignored it. Now was certainly not the time for that.

"I mean it," he affirmed. "They can take their unwanted and unwarranted opinions and shove them up their own backsides. I _hate_ that you have to deal with that. I hate that I can't always shield you from it, though I will whenever I can. I don't care what they say or do. You are..." Cullen took a deep breath and then sighed. "They have no idea what they're talking about."

She smiled into his palm and then kissed it gently. She did feel a little better about their future together as human and elf. But again, the moment in which she could reasonably bring up the mage and templar issue seemed to pass. She lay down, and after a time, Cullen's breathing turned deeper. Every so often, he'd murmur something nonsensical through an exhalation. She grinned into his chest, letting the sounds soothe her. It was late, and as much as she wanted to stay awake to enjoy this time, her eyes eventually slid closed in sleep.

 

**

 

The next morning was a new experience for them both. She woke to the feel of his fingers gently tracing the lines of her vallaslin and smiled before she even opened her eyes when she realized that he'd stayed with her. She cracked an eye to see him watching her.

"Sorry. You looked so beautiful, I couldn't resist touching you."

She felt a bit of heat spread across her face. "No bad dreams?"

"Not one. I think perhaps giving you that coin was the best idea I've ever had. You are far more lucky for me than it ever was. And if it will keep _you_ safe..."

He moved in to kiss her, and she turned away laughing.

"Cullen, my breath is awful!"

He grinned at her and shrugged as well as he could while lying entwined with her on the bed. "So is mine."

She leaned forward and placed a closed-mouth kiss on his lips. "There. Now, we should get up before other people do. There's already enough gossip as it is."

"Gossip?" he asked innocently.

She shot him a disbelieving look as she tried to move away from him. He held onto her tightly, and she flopped back on the bed next to him.

"Yes, gossip. The kind where certain people in our inner circle wonder aloud in my presence exactly how 'well endowed' our Commander is."

Cullen blushed furiously and finally let her go. "Ah... yes... I can't imagine who _that_ might be..."

"I just tell him I don't have any information to add to the discussion as of yet, but from my _limited_ experience, our Commander seems to be well fit in that area."

She hadn't thought it possible, but his face turned even redder. He sat up quickly and cleared his throat.

"You _are_ teasing me, aren’t you?"

She got out of the bed and took a large drink of water, swishing it around to get rid of the sour taste in her mouth, then handed the mug to Cullen. Her tunic and breeches were crumpled from sleep. She usually put on warm pajamas and a metric ton of blankets to sleep, but Cullen heated the bed impossibly well. Her own personal hot water bottle... only much more handsome. She suddenly felt a little _too_ warm.

"Well, I'm sure you know... there _is_ gossip about us. But, yes, I am teasing about that particular scenario." _Sort of._

She looked over at the tub, and a devilish grin spread across her face. "However, let me tell you... you haven't seen _anything_ , yet."

She walked to the tub and called down a controlled wall of ice directly into the tub. She immediately hit the ice with a warming spell. It melted with a hiss, filling the room with a light haze of steam. Turning back to him, she walked as seductively as possible to the middle of the room.

"Would you like to watch me bathe, Commander?"

She saw the muscles work in his jaw as he swallowed hard and then clenched his jaw. She also noticed his hands close into fists as he narrowed his eyes and shook his head at her. His voice sounded strained as he replied.

"What if I said yes?"

Without a word - and with only a faint blush - she pulled her tunic over her head to reveal the intricately crafted breast band Josie had picked out for her in Val Royeaux. The barely-there fabric, made of delicately embroidered vines over sheer fabric, left no doubt about her state of arousal. She took a step toward him, dragging the tunic behind her.

"I'm undecided. Should I tell you it comes with matching smalls? Or tell you instead that I rarely wear smalls at all?"

Cullen let out a strangled growl as he vaulted himself off the bed, closed the distance between them in two strides and covered her laughing mouth with his own. His trembling hands smoothed over her bare skin seductively, causing her to sigh lustily into his mouth as the waves of pleasure washed over her. Then, once he had her trembling with need, he abruptly pulled his mouth from hers and walked away without a word, shooting her a wicked smirk as he disappeared behind the banister.

 

**

 

Later that afternoon, as she walked down the stairs from Cullen's office toward the stables after pulling him away to kiss _him_ breathless as payback, she noticed the gates lifting. Something stirred inside her - a flash of familiarity. She paused to watch, expecting yet another pesky group of nobles. Instead, a lone silhouette, lithe of step and carrying a beautiful elven staff, appeared in the archway. Evana’s breath rushed out of her as if she'd been punched.

She couldn't help it. She ran for him.

He met her rush with open arms and wrapped them around her protectively as she pressed against him and squeezed her arms around his waist. Then, suddenly aware of the people around them, she blushed hotly as she quickly pulled back and put some distance between them. No need to start any false rumors...

"Solas! I can't believe... I mean..." She laughed at herself then continued, "I guess I owe Varric an ale. I wasn't sure you were coming back."

"Neither was I... for a time. But only a short time. You were a true friend. You did everything you could to help. I could hardly abandon you now."

"Where did you go?"

"I found a quiet spot and went to sleep. I visited the place in the Fade where my friend used to be. It's empty, but there are stirrings of energy in the Void. Someday, something new may grow there."

"I hope it's not too difficult to speak of... but I've been wondering... What happens when a spirit dies?"

"It isn't the same as for mortals. The energy of spirits returns to the Fade. If the idea giving the spirit form is strong, or if the memory has shaped other spirits, it may someday rise again."

"You're saying your friend might... come back?"

Solas shook his head sorrowfully. "No, not really. A spirit's natural state is peaceful semi-existence. It is rare to be able to reflect reality. Something similar might form one day, but it might have a different personality. It would likely not remember me."

He paused and looked away from her. Pain flashed across his face, but in a moment, his serene expression returned. If she didn't know him so well, she would have missed it entirely.

"It would not be the friend I knew."

Her heart ached for him. She knew what it was to mourn.

"The next time you have to mourn, you don't need to be alone. You have friends here."

His head dropped. "It's been so long since I could trust anyone."

"I know."

She reached out to touch his arm lightly. The gesture was brief and meant to be comforting, but he looked to her hand and then watched it depart with an intense expression. Looking up again, his eyes burned into her, and she felt another, different flush of heat across her cheeks. Unbidden, their practicing session all those months ago in the Hinterlands flashed through her mind as he tilted his head in acknowledgement.

"I will work on it. And... thank you."

"Oh... o-of course."

"I'll be in my study should you need anything."

She tilted her head in return and watched him depart, her cheeks only now returning to their normal paleness. She needed to be more careful. In her excitement, she'd let down her guard, and that thing - the awkwardness she'd been so careful to avoid since the early days of the Inquisition - had happened again. Her newfound closeness with her friends never caused such difficulties with Varric nor even with the ever flirty Iron Bull, but somehow, the same actions with Solas were taken in a different way than she intended. It didn't help that a part of her seemed to reach out for him any time he was near. She found it disconcerting, and much like the dream the night after that strained practice session, it left her ill at ease. As glad as she was to have him back, a thought rose up in the back of her mind that perhaps it wasn't the best thing after all. He still had his secrets - that much she knew. But he also seemed to have a small hold on her now that she couldn't shake as easily as she had in Haven.

It was too much. She needed a distraction. She'd told Iron Bull she'd drink with him to celebrate the dragon slaying, but in all the preparations, she'd yet to do it. And tonight would be her last chance for some time.

_Yes. Drinking myself into a stupor sounds good right about now. I should go find Dorian. He always approves of drinking in excess._

She headed to the library to find the Tevinter mage, passing through the great hall to the stairs leading directly to the second floor in order to avoid Solas' study. And all the while, a slowly dawning realization caused a leaden ball to form in the pit of her stomach.

Maybe... maybe Solas thought of her as _more_ than a friend?

_Yes. A drink. I definitely need a drink... or five._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Part of Chapter 12](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9047525/chapters/26863707) and [Chapter 13](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9047525/chapters/26947845) of Part 2 of the Revelations series - Truths Half Told Beget Lives Half Lived - are set during the events of chapter 52.


	53. In which terrible thoughts trick tongues into wagging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole helps!

Cole shimmered at the edge of the courtyard as he watched Solas walk through the gates. He'd felt the elf returning for some time now, carrying with him that well of hurt, deep and cold and lifeless. Cole had tried to draw hurt from that well, but no matter how much spilled out, more oozed up from the hole of darkness, sharp memory twisting, knifing, gutting fledging joy like a sacrificial ram.

For a brief moment, Solas' pain flared brilliantly as Evana pulled her hand away from him. In turn, Evana's confusion blazed brightly above the glare of the anchor, solidifying Cole's fluttering thoughts into strict attention.

Thread-like wisps made of thoughts and memories radiated from Evana and glimmered in and out of sight, some turning over and back on themselves. Most tied loosely to her close companions, Varric and Dorian and Josie and Bull and a couple of ever-strengthening wisps materializing for Leliana and Cassandra. He'd even wafted along on the currents of thought with a few that wound up and away to the northeast - to a mother, another one like a mother, a surrogate father, a real father - but other than the mighty cords binding her to the Commander, the strongest of these wisps stretched delicately between the two elves.

Solas departed for the main hall, and Evana stood unmoving in the courtyard for a few moments. She burned with the swirling brightness of the anchor, but today, her intense distress etched a picture into the sharp air, fresh and bright, shining faintly over the mark.

Shining for him to see. To help.

_Not now. Please, Creators, why now? He's wrong, hiding himself. Why does that draw me? I don't want that. I already have what I want..._

Faint sparks of doubt, confusion and pain flashed all around her. Cole could whisper that doubt to Solas, place that nugget of comfort in the elf's mind. Solas wanted her compassion to mean more than friendly talks about magic and genial arguments about elven lore. Cole could show Solas where to look, how to uncover that tiny spark ignited by long talks in the Fade and stoked by fleeting, heart-pounding touches, how to tend, coax, stroke, make it grow into a flame of want to match his own.

Cole uttered a small mewling sound of distress. Helping Solas meant hurting. Solas wanted to claim her, touch her, taste her in ways Cole didn't understand. But she was already helping the Commander with _his_ hurt.

Every day the Commander loved, every day binding cords twisted tighter, fractions of hurt that had fractured his soul drifted away. He pushed lurking pain out of darkened corners to make room for more love for her. _She stays. Why does she stay? Maker, I love her so much. Feels like she might break me open. Perhaps that's not a bad thing. If only I could tell her. Andraste preserve me, why can't I just_ tell _her?_ As black self-loathing melted into to acceptance, hopeful thoughts of worthiness stitched up old wounds.

The thin wisp that tied Evana to her elven companion was nothing in comparison to those cords, massive vines twisting around one another, strengthening, pulsing with each passing day and drawing the Inquisitor and Commander closer to one flesh. They made each other better, stronger, ripping out the weeds of hurt and pain and tending to twisting trunks that wound tightly in a dance of living, breathing love.

That truth shone brighter than anything. Cole understood. On his perch between the upper and lower courtyards, the spirit boy writhed slightly at the solid thought, the realization, that he could not draw this poison from the well.

When Evana returned to the courtyard from wherever she'd gone, Cole followed her to the tavern. If he couldn't help Solas, perhaps he could help her. She had picked up Dorian, Varric and Hawke on the way. Grabbing a couple of ales at the bar for herself and Varric - one she apparently "owed" him - she walked to the corner and plunked down beside the Iron Bull.

 _Need to forget. Forget him. Forget these strange and unwelcome thoughts._ "Ready to celebrate some dragon slaying, Bull?"

"Absolutely, boss. I thought you'd ditched us."

She gave him a look of disbelief. "And miss out on raising a glass with the finest mercenary group in Thedas? Never!"

The Chargers raised their own mugs with a cheer. Krem came to sit on her other side, his chest puffed up broad and proud.

"It's about time!" Krem shouted as he slapped her on the back. He raised his glass again. "Let's drink to the Chief and the Inquisitor on a job well done of hacking that dragon to tiny bits!"

Another cheer went up and then a moment of silence descended as the Chargers all took a large swig of whatever they were currently drinking. Cole drifted in and out of Maryden's songs, taking up a space near those ethereal notes of calmness while Evana spent her first two mugs of ale talking with the Chargers and learning more about each of them in turn.

The Chargers were more than happy to while away the afternoon hours telling her stories of their time together. Cole loved to hear the stories if they had a nice ending, but too many of them did not. He felt himself becoming agitated and listened to Maryden's song for a bit instead. When he felt calmed, he returned his attention to the Inquisitor.

Bull had pulled out a bottle and placed a small glass on the table in front of the Inquisitor. _Something is wrong... I'll get her rip-roaring drunk. She'll spill, and then we'll fix it._ Cole appreciated the Qunari's sentiment, though he wasn't sure about the method.

The Inquisitor groaned and let her forehead fall to the table with a dull thud. The stories had distracted her, hurt dimmed to the point Cole could no longer see it over her mark's brightness. He could still sense it, though, like mist condensing from nothingness into a dewy blanket, ephemeral but tangible.

"Bull!" she grumbled toward the floor, "I already _have_ a drink."

"It's almost gone." _Something is definitely wrong._ "And I thought you weren't going to wimp out on me, boss."

She raised her head and looked at Dorian, who was working his way through a bottle of wine. Cole's eyes were immediately drawn to Dorian's bright hurts - _Am I lovable? Is that lummox even capable of love? Should I even try?_ \- but Cole refused to let the other, older hurts plucking at the edges of his mind distract him. He needed to help Evana. Perhaps he could make her forget her feelings for Solas? She'd wished for forgetting. He could do that. Make her forget the wisp until it withered and faded into nothingness.

"Don't look at me like that, darling," Dorian admonished Evana. "I'm here at your request to help you get drunk, though you still haven't told me why." _Something wrong in paradise? But no, they are too involved. He spent the night in her quarters last night if rumors are to be believed. Something else, then? Her clan...?_ "Bull's foul concoctions never fail to get the job done, so if I were you, I'd just sit back and meekly take my medicine. You'll be too drunk to care in a few minutes."

Looking down at the empty glass, she admitted her defeat. _Might as well get this going._ "Alright, Bull. Fill 'er up. But let's drink a little bit more slowly this time, eh? And maybe I'll get some water... and food."

She went to the bar and came back with both. After raising her glass "to dragons" and choking down a shot with Bull, she took a long gulp of the water and stuffed a hunk of cheese in her mouth. _So many friends, but who could I tell? Who would understand? They'll think I'm awful. I think I'm awful. Cullen is the one I tell..._

Bull filled her glass again and laughed as she quickly took the glass and downed the contents. She took another swig of water and started in on a giant hunk of bread.

Dorian put down his wineglass and turned to Bull. "Oh, we forgot to mention. Solas is back. We saw him on our way through the rotunda. Tried to get him to come along, but he's all about reading up on the books Josephine acquired for him in his absence."

Bull growled. _Fucking deserter._ "Good. Now I can tell him exactly what I think of him."

Dorian waggled a finger. "Now now, the man was merely distraught, you can't expect a grieving person to think logically or clearly. That would be like expecting Orlesians to actually say what they mean."

"Of course I can. Nothing comes before duty. Nothing is more important than the mission. Solas let his personal _feelings_ endanger the life of the Inquisitor - the one person who can fix this shit."

Dorian shook his head. "You only think that way because you're Qunari. The rest of us have a bit of a different view on life and what's _actually_ important."

Evana's pain turned even brighter. _It's not his fault. He was hurting. Why is everyone blaming? Why does everyone think I can't take care of myself? Perhaps because I've been bad at it up to now._

"Bull, that's enough," she finally said, a warble of warning in her voice.

Bull turned to her, about to say something, but she raised a hand, a glint of steeliness in her gaze. _That's a damn scary look. She's getting really good at this Inquisitor business. We need a distraction._

Suddenly, the Qunari looked over to where Cole sat on the stairs. "Hey! Weird spirit kid! You were there, too. Come have a drink to celebrate the killing of dragons!"

"I like watching you celebrate, but Dorian and the Inquisitor don't want me to join. They don't want me to say the wrong words."

Both Dorian and the Inquisitor blushed, then looked at each other and clinked their glasses together. Cole heard them think in unison, _at least I'm not alone in having secrets_.

Varric and Hawke, who had spent the last couple of hours in a game of wicked grace with some of the officers, finally joined the party. Varric looked around the table and shook his head. _Sad lot. They need a story._ Varric turned to Cole.

"Come on over, kid. Who better to share your troubles with than your friends?"

Cole came over like Varric had taught him. It took longer, but people didn't look at him funny when he walked instead of whispered. He sat down at the table in a free chair beside the dwarf. Varric weaved pain tightly around his heart, words warring with reason and reality, but he also knew how to unravel it. He treated Cole like a real person and not like some writhing monster to be feared and watched. The Chargers, however, looked at him askance.

"I won't say anything about that... or that... or that."

Cole looked at each of them in turned as he spoke. They all turned away with grumbled thanks, and Cole wondered why everyone had suddenly gone quiet. Hawke stared at him, mesmerized. Her thoughts tumbled over each other in quick succession, almost too quickly for Cole to absorb, like drops of rain from the sky sliding down into the dark crevices of the earth. He could see the same woven bonds imprisoning those same feelings inside her heart. Perhaps someday he could unravel their woven armor and weave them together.

"You can really read minds, Cole?" she asked in awe.

Cole shook his head. "Not read minds. But I hear the hurt - like a song you sing to yourself - and things that might help heal the hurt. If it doesn't hurt, it doesn't matter... _Will he forgive me for leaving him behind? I guess if I die, it won't matter._ "

Varric raised his eyebrows, his eyes glued on Hawke. Hawke choked a little on her ale and held up her hand as a sign of surrender.

"Ah, I see now... ok... uh, can I get in on the 'won't talk about that' deal you've got going with the others?"

Cole nodded. "Yes. But sometimes I forget. You'll have to remind me." Then he turned to Varric. "Someone should tell a nice story with a nice ending. Varric, you have nice stories with nice endings, don't you?"

Varric gave him a sardonic grin. "It's like you read my mind. I sure do, kid. Let me tell you one... you'll like it. It has little kids and puppy dogs."

Cole listened intently to Varric's story. He didn't understand some of it - the parts about people meeting in the dark to "get to know each other better" were strange. Why wouldn't they simply meet in the daytime? But the parts at the end about little children playing with puppies _were_ very nice.

It hadn't worked, though. Evana wasn't paying attention. _Awful. A terrible thought. Why am I still thinking about this? So, so awful... awful... Creators, I feel awful._

Her fingers played with something hidden inside her tunic. Yes. That might help.

"It means everything to him that you took it."

Evana's eyes snapped up to Cole's. "Uh... what?"

" _Maker, please, always bring her back. Let her always come back to me._ The luck means he can pretend he won't lose you."

Evana stared at him for a moment then said in a quiet tone, "Cole, remember what we talked about? Not in public."

"I take it this is about Curly's gift?" Varric cut in with a little chuckle.

Evana's face turned red as Cole nodded. The Iron Bull looked at her, confused. _What the hell are they talking about?_

"What the hell are you guys talking about?"

She slowly pulled the amulet out of her shirt and held it up for everyone to see. Hawke reached over the table to examine it more closely. _Damn. First an adorable letter. Then this. He's more of a catch than I realized._

"The quiet ones always surprise you, don't they? That's really beautiful."

Evana smiled. An avalanche of tender feelings buried the hurt that had spiked during Varric's story.

"I know," she agreed softly. "It's... more than I..."

 _What am I doing? Strong, generous, understanding. He cares for me. I love him._ Her eyes blew out wide at this string of thought, sudden thunder raging under her skin and through her ribs. _Creators. I LOVE him._

"He can be quite thoughtful sometimes," she murmured distantly, a cyclone of hope and doubt ravaging her tenuous hold on calm.

_But... what if we never agree? So different. Mages can't go back to a Circle... after all this? I would never let it happen. But what if...?_

Cole interrupted her thought. "Safe and solid. Protecting and proud. He feels like quiet. Stronger when you hold him. You should talk to him about that. And about Solas. He'll understand."

Evana looked up at Cole, eyes wide. "He will? How can he when _I_ don't even understand! That is... I... um..."

She turned to look at her companions, panic written all over her face. They shot confused looks between her and Cole.

"Y-yes, you're right. Of course, you're right. I need to... to talk to him. About that. About those things." She looked back at Cole. "You're sure he'll... understand? Won't it... won't it hurt him?"

"Thoughts of magic muddy and muddled. Fear folds him inside himself. But he can see through your eyes. Fiona can help. She's got ideas. And the other... it _will_ hurt... but holding in hurts more."

Suddenly, Evana stood, walked around the table and, lifting his floppy hat from his head for a moment, kissed Cole firmly on the forehead. _Oh, Creators... Maker... sweet Andraste... Somebody... How am I going to do this? But, Cole is right. It must be done. I must speak._

"Ma serannas, Cole."

Cole beamed. He'd helped! Her hurt dimmed until only the mark remained. And if it came back, he could always offer to make her forget. Cole beamed at everyone else at the table.

The Iron Bull watched Evana stumble a little bit on her way out. _Well, that was anticlimactic._

"You better come back here when you're done, boss!" he yelled after her. "We've got more drinking to do."

She waved at him from the door and disappeared out of sight. Cole sat next to Varric, still smiling, but his expression faded as he realized everyone was looking at him. Dorian spoke first.

"Care to share what that was all about, Cole my boy? What's this about Solas? And what is she going to say that will 'hurt' our Commander? Surely not..."

Varric shook his head. "No, definitely not. Can't be. I'm sure of it. I'd take bets."

"Depraved as I am, even I don't have the stomach to bet against our poor Commander like that," Dorian murmured into his wine.

Bull remained quiet. _Damn elf. If he steals her away after all this..._

Agitated by new hurt blooming around the table, Cole shook his head vehemently. "No! He won't do that. It's mostly him, not her. But she knows now... because of how he looked at her. She's confused, but the Commander will make it right."

Everyone at the table stared, confused and uncomfortable and uncomprehending, so Cole did what he thought best. He faded away from the table, and after a few moments, no one even remembered that he'd been there. They also didn't remember anything about how their Inquisitor had left the table - only that she'd gone to find her Commander. They all smiled knowingly and toasted to a long life of happiness for their besotted Herald and her equally besotted military advisor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long to update! Hope this all came across clearly enough (I'm always a little self-conscious about writing Cole). If anything was too confusing, let me know.


	54. In which the proverbial gauntlet is metaphorically thrown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mage and the ex-templar finally have it out and say some necessary - and also unnecessary - things. Evana comes clean about Solas, and jealous!Cullen makes a brief appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit of roller coaster, folks!
> 
> Fair warning to all you Cullenites, I write Cullen as "in progress," which I believe is the closest to in-character representation as I can get without sacrificing my Quizzy's pro-mage stance.

The days of unbroken working and concentration meant Cullen's headaches had returned in full force by the end of the week. Thanks to Evana, however, he now had a new supply of draughts and the occasional magical assist if things got too bad.

The pain behind his eyes was particularly intense today. He'd spent part of the day with Hawke training the men they were to take with them for the assault. The physical exercise had felt wonderful at the time, but now, as he sat alone in his office, the aches in his shoulders, hips and knees only added to his discomfort.

He debated sending a note to Evana but decided to pour himself a draught instead. He'd just stood up to retrieve it when his door opened, and the object of his thoughts slipped inside. She smiled at him shyly and locked the door behind her. His heart began to pound as she walked toward him, but his smile turned to concern when she swayed on her feet. He raced from behind his desk to steady her, placing his hands on her hips. Her hands came up to rest on his upper arms, and her smile widened to a grin when her eyes met his.

"Good evening, Commander."

The faint smell of The Iron Bull's liquor wafted to his nostrils, and he heaved a sigh through a wry smile. "You, my dear, are drunk."

"Not drunk," she contradicted as she shook her head, raised a hand and pinched her forefinger and thumb together in front of her eye. "Just a liiiittle tipsy. Bull insisted that I celebrate with him and the Chargers, so that's what I've been doing for the last couple of hours. Didn't let him get me as drunk as last time... though he wants me to come back later, when I'm done talking with you."

"Talking with me?"

She nodded but said nothing further. Normally, he'd be delighted to talk with her any time, but her strange behavior had him nervous. A roiling sensation took up residence in his gut as they stared at each other in the dim candlelight.

"What would you like to talk about?" he asked warily.

"You. And Magic. And templars. And... other things."

Cullen furrowed his brow, the uncomfortable feeling growing. "I'm always happy to answer any questions you might have."

"Thank you, Cullen, that's... that means a lot to me." She looked away, but her eyes darted back to him a couple of times before she finally spoke. "I guess... I guess I want to know if you... do you still regret the man you became after leaving Ferelden?"

He breathed an internal sigh of relief. The question was personal, but no more or less than any of their other conversations. Still he had to think on his answer a moment.

"Well... in many respects, yes. After the Ferelden Circle, I thought all mages were like the ones there. Knight-Commander Meredith's methods were harsh. I recognize that now, but at the time, all I could see was that they kept people safe."

"But you said Meredith was unstable," she observed quietly.

Cullen shrugged and absently let his thumbs caress her waist as he fell into memories of his past. "She was my Knight-Commander, and I her Knight-Captain. I had no reason to distrust her. Perhaps it was naive of me... but she wasn't wrong about the blood mages in Kirkwall. Meredith encouraged my anger toward the mages. But there was only so far I would go, and she knew that, too. I was her second-in-command, but she kept decisions from me - those I would question. I believed she was serving the city. I never _thought_ to question her. Not until it was too late."

"You can't control everything. And you stood up to her in the end," she reminded him.

He appreciated her words, but he was still entrenched in the memories. "If I hadn't, would I be like her now? I _wanted_ mages locked away as much as she did. I trusted they were treated reasonably well, but I should have done more. I should have looked into it." He shook his head as if trying to shake away a bad dream. "It is not yet enough. The Inquisition is my chance to atone. I will see it through."

Her eyes filled with concern, yet there was hesitancy in her looks as well. "I know you will. But... with so much corruption and ill treatment of both mages and templars, things... they can't go back to the way they used to be. Don't you think...? I mean... do you think templars should cease to exist?"

His skin prickled in defensiveness at the loaded question. How could she ask him such a thing? Unsure of where she was headed with this line of questioning, however, he bit back his initial reaction and answered in as even a tone as possible.

" _No._ I may have chosen to leave that life, but I respect those who remain. Magic ungoverned could tear the world apart. It's doing so now. Templars are trained and able to confront such dangers."

"Like the Grey Wardens can deal with the Blight?"

Cullen frowned. "I... I suppose so. Although I would hardly compare magic with the Blight. Magic _can_ do good. The Blight never could."

She smiled a little at his rebuttal of her comparison. It seemed to please her, and he relaxed the tiniest bit. Her next question, however, put him right back on edge again.

"What would you suggest, then? To change things, I mean."

This was a serious conversation to be having with a slightly tipsy Inquisitor, and it was a _dangerous_ conversation for an ex-templar to be having with his slightly tipsy mage lover. And yet, he could not bring himself to deny her an answer. They'd been having variations of this conversation from the beginning of their acquaintance. She'd even needed to get a little drunk to work up the courage to ask these questions, so they must be hard for her. He couldn't blame her. He could do with a bracing shot of whiskey right about now.

Cullen sighed as he gripped tighter at her waist and tried to organize his thoughts. He'd always assumed the resolution between mages and templars would rest in hands far more qualified than his own - such as the new Divine's. But the Inquisition was quickly becoming a powerful political organization thanks to their ambassador. His answer might carry more weight than he realized, and that scared him. She likely wouldn't be pleased by what he had to say, but he had to speak truthfully and from his own experiences.

"Some call the Circle a prison that can only breed resentment. Perhaps opportunities to work outside the Circle? A mixed military service, or healer's clinics with templar support? And there must be a safer way for templars to leave the Order. Templars can lose their memories to lyrium. Some call it a gift - to forget the failed harrowings, the demons." He looked away from her. "You know that some atrocities haunt me still. But to lose what good I can recall... I nearly lost my mind once. It is no gift."

Her eyes were troubled as he turned back to her. She pulled away from him, and after a moment's hesitation, he let her go.

"And yet, to me," she countered, "this seems even more reason to end the Templar Order. Why bind them to such a horrible fate at all? Mages can take care of themselves. Dalish mages such as myself have survived for thousands of years without templar interference. And you know... until the explosion at the Conclave, the only truly horrific thing in my life was _caused_ by templars. Fiona has done a good job of leading the Inquisition mages without templar support. And if things are really so bad for templars, I wonder why we need them at all."

The rational part of his brain argued that her experiences might indeed lead her to such a conclusion, but the words still cut. Anger flared, and he responded in kind, his voice scraping harshly through the void between them.

"Tell that to the parents of a child who falls prey to possession. Mages _cannot_ handle such threats alone."

The sudden heat and adrenaline that rose up between them nearly stifled him. She crossed her arms and leaned her hip to one side, her eyes narrowing on him with a steely glint of defiance.

_Yes, this is a very dangerous conversation._

But it had begun, and he had no idea how to stop it without seeming as if he were dismissing her concerns - or burying his own. When she responded, her voice carried a forceful determination he'd only heard a few times before and usually only around the war table.

"Can they not?" she responded, a note of disdain coloring her previously hesitant tone. "Far more parents mourn the loss of their children to the Circle or try to hide their loved ones from the templars rather than lose them. How many of those possessions could have been avoided by simply teaching mages in the places they live instead of ripping them away from their homes? It's unnecessary."

Cullen's lip curled in answering derision, his hands fisting at his sides, his voice tightly leashed to prevent himself from shouting. "And when the people become overly frightened of the two or three mages in their midst, what then? Should we simply turn a blind eye to the deaths of those who could have been otherwise protected in a Circle?"

"Protected?! Is that what you call the likes of Kirkwall? The _Gallows_? The very name betrays the murderous intent behind the place. And don't even get me started on how many abominations could have been prevented by simply giving mages equal rights instead of treating them as prisoners."

"Circles are not supposed to be prisons," he tried to reason. "They allow for mages to learn from one another. Senior enchanters could often come and go on official business with little oversight. And young mages could be with others like themselves instead of ostracized as different or freakish. Tell me, why is that a bad thing?"

"Because they have no _choice_!" she cried. "Whether or not Circles were intended as prisons, that's what they became. You said it yourself - rounding up mages and forcing them into cramped spaces breeds resentment. And putting that many mages in a single space where their interactions with the Fade can do serious damage to the Veil, thinning it and drawing demons with the collective power of so many mages? It's madness!"

Cullen's anger faltered slightly as images of Kinloch flashed through his mind. His head throbbed insistently, the headache of a few moments ago blooming into a full-on migraine. The questions flooding his mind now were not new, though they'd only recently surfaced as he slowly came to terms with traumas long past: Would so many have died if they hadn't been locked in the tower together? Would anyone have become possessed at all? She seemed so certain...

He shook his head, using the simmering anger to push away the memories. He knew what he'd experienced. Mages could not deal with such things. He had to believe it. Otherwise... otherwise he and all the others had suffered and died for nothing. He paced away from her, his agitation requiring movement to keep it within manageable levels.

"I understand what you're saying, but the idea of no oversight... No, I cannot accept that. It's too dangerous! Look what we're dealing with now - magic running wild and threatening our very existence. Perhaps... perhaps properly Circle-trained mages could be allowed freedom in exchange for-"

"No!" Evana sliced a hand through the air. "Mages should not be imprisoned simply because we were born with a gift and then have to _earn_ our freedom based on the whim of some Chantry lackey. Why can't you see this? It's so simple!"

"There is nothing _simple_ about it!" he snarled.

"Yes, there _is_. Either you think mages are worthy of the same respect and freedom as non-mages or you think them inferior... you think _me_ inferior." Her voice broke slightly as she asked, "Which is it, Cullen?"

"I don't..." he stumbled, her comments throwing him off balance. "I'm not talking about you. I-"

"I. Am. A. Mage," she hissed. "I am not an exception. I am no different from the rest. If you think of mages as inferior, as untrustworthy, you are _including me_. So which is it? Am I a person? Do I have the right to be free, or should I be locked up in a tower with all the other animals?"

_Mages cannot be treated like people; they are not like you and me._

The words - _his_ words from what seemed a lifetime ago - rose up out of the swirling confusion of thought to taunt him, and he cringed internally as truth dawned slowly despite the maelstrom of emotion. He'd set her apart. He'd relegated her to a "different" category, just as he had Dorian and even Vivienne. But those impulses still simmered under his skin - the knee-jerk reaction of mistrust, the feeling of impending doom when he thought of mage freedom, the desire to exert some sort of control over the uncontrollable.

He saw the flash of pain behind her anger and realized he'd taken too long to answer. He gritted his teeth and tried to regain some control over himself and the conversation, but trying to reconcile his thoughts on mages with his thoughts about Evana proved difficult.

"I... I do think mages deserve respect," he finally managed to grind out, "but their 'gift' as you call it has the power to harm far more people than a non-mage ever could. Their-"

" _Our_ ," she inserted in a forceful tone.

"Your..." Cullen looked at her, his irritation dipping briefly into despair as her truth - _the_ truth? - continued to pound at the thick wall the Chantry had built around his values and moorings. Although weathered and eroded through the years, the walls held, and he knew he'd need more time to resolve the cognitive dissonance she'd forced him to acknowledge tonight. He shook his head, a surge of irrational resentment bleeding into his words. "Regardless of how I might feel, your powers are fearsome, and those powers out of control exponentially so. People will not simply accept mages among them because _you_ will it."

"I am the Inquisitor. If anyone can do this, start us down the path, it's me. And why do you think people are frightened of mages in the first place, Cullen? Perhaps because the Chantry and those in power have _taught_ them to be afraid? The Dalish-"

"Are not a sufficient example of how mages could be integrated!" Cullen snapped in a burst of frustration. He sucked in a breath and modulated his voice, immediately knowing his mistake and yet unable to keep his mouth shut. "Your culture is admirable, but it's a bit presumptuous to suggest your methods are transferable to a people with an entirely different set of cultural beliefs and values, don't you think?"

Her eyes widened in shock and then immediately narrowed to slits. "Careful, _vhenan_. You are sorely out of your depth. Have I not been immersed in both cultures? Do you think so little of me that you believe I would suggest something without first giving it proper consideration?"

Cullen took a step back at the fury in her gaze. Maker, he should not have said it. But then he should not have said half of what had come out of his mouth this evening.

"I'm sorry," he conceded in a low, even tone as he held his hands in front of him in supplication. "I went too far."

Her body relaxed the tiniest bit, and she jerked her head in a small nod of acceptance. Silence strained between them, and Cullen struggled with the despair steadily creeping up to suffocate his anger. They'd needed to deal with this fundamental disagreement, but he wished he'd been more prepared. Now, angry words had been exchanged, and she'd never seemed further away from him than in this moment.

Maker, was this the end? Would they fall apart over an age-old question out of sheer stubbornness? He pressed a thumb and finger into his temples. He had to regain control of his emotions. _I cannot... Maker... I cannot bear to lose her..._

"Even if some areas of training need modification, the base is sound," Evana finally continued in a slightly subdued tone. "Educating mages in the ways of magic doesn't require giving up lives and families. It just requires careful tutoring by a senior mage or two - as I had in my clan. I learned to control my power, but I was never restricted from seeing my mother or Vash'an or anyone else. The Chantry and the Order have cultivated a culture of fear around mages, but the vast majority of mages want to do good - or at the very least live normal lives. Those few who would do evil could be judged and monitored by other mages... or maybe... maybe a force of templars could guard those judged guilty of purposefully harming people with magic - but only _after_ they have done so. And the children... those poor children..."

Her voice broke, and a fat, angry tear that had been glistening in her eye while she spoke finally rolled down her pale cheek. She looked down and swiped at it angrily, huffing out something in elven under her breath.

A single tear had never more effectively doused a fire. Her eyes locked on his again, the glistening depths pleading for him to understand, and he slumped slightly, all his remaining fight drowned in that single, passionate tear. That and her allowance - the possibility of a place for templars in her dream of mage freedom - placated him in no small way.

"Those children..." she finally continued in a wavering voice, "locked up for the rest of their lives, never to see their family again... At least for you it was a choice, though even that is debatable. For a mage... You would do that to your own child? You would allow them to be taken to a Circle... you would agree to never see your own flesh and blood ever again?"

His anger had already faded, but with the shock of this final retort came an additional flash of understanding. She was concerned about herself and the mages she'd taken in but also about any children those mages - or she - might have. She was appealing to his own sense of familial duty.

He didn't dwell on the fact that, if things progressed between them, any child of hers would also be _his_. That dream of his - of the life he and Evana might have after the Inquisition - hadn't progressed that far. He hadn't allowed himself to dream such a precious and terrifying thing.

He also didn't dwell on the disturbing fact that he wasn't sure what he would do if he had a mage child of his own. Six years ago, they would have gone to the Circle, no question. Four years ago, he would have balked until ensuring for himself that the Circle in question followed all proper procedures.

And now? Though the current lack of Circles rendered it a theoretical question, he simply didn't know. He would _want_ to keep his own child, he was sure of that. But whether he thought it better for them to be in a Circle... for their own good...

"I do believe things must change, Evana," he conceded in a rough tone. "And I didn't mean to imply that my ideas were the only answers. You asked, and I spoke the first things that came to mind. If Fiona has methods for safeguarding free mages as well as non-mages from the dangers of magic, I would love to hear them... as would others in the Inquisition, I'm sure."

She stared at him, clearly trying to comprehend his sudden attempt at reconciliation. Then her arms fell listless to her sides, and her shoulders slumped forward, falling out of the taut, defensive position she'd maintained only a moment ago. Giving in to the urge, he carefully approached her, placing his hands tentatively on her arms as he used to do when comforting her in Haven... back before he could comfort her in other ways.

"Evana, I..."

He stopped, unsure of what to say. He did not agree with her vision of completely free mages, but he reminded himself that his objections were based on a lifetime of Chantry indoctrination. He'd not missed her implication that, even at eighteen, he might not have been in a right mind to make a decision about dedicating his life to the templars. It was an ugly, insidious thought he'd only recently allowed himself to acknowledge. He first reaction was still indignant denial of such a thing, but deep down he knew he'd eventually have to deal with the implications.

Not tonight, though.

"This is not a question we can answer in one night," he said gently. "I know we still disagree on many things, but... but I want us to keep talking. We... I'm willing to walk the path with you until we come to a mutually agreeable understanding. And I do believe we _can_ come to an understanding. I promise to think more carefully on the subject in the future. I don't want-" He cut off as his voice broke slightly with emotion. He cleared his throat and continued on. "Evana, I don't want this to come between us. Can... can that be enough for now?"

She took a breath and gave him a weak smile. "Yes... Yes. I want... I want us to come to an understanding, too. I want that for us. I'm sorry if I came on strong, but you can appreciate my... _passion_ on the subject, I think?"

"Quite well."

He dropped his arms back to his sides, hesitant to act on the urge to pull her into an embrace. A strange silence fell between them. She was quiet, but not in her normal way. It was... awkward and oppressive. Their fight - for it could be called nothing else - still hung in the air, tainting their tenuous peace with vague unease.

She looked down at the floor, her posture relaxing slightly but not enough for him to feel completely easy. The heaviness in the air closed around him, invoking a feeling of confinement and putting him on edge yet again. He found himself raising a hand the back of his neck to rub at the pain and tension gathering there as panic bubbled up in his already roiling gut.

_After all that... what now?_

He wished to ease the strain between them, however, so he took a deep breath and prompted softly, "Uh... there was something else you wished to talk about?"

"Oh... um... yes, it's nothing, really, but..." She shifted and glanced up at him. "Did you hear that Solas is back? He arrived a couple of hours ago."

Cullen stiffened as he read the nervousness in her eyes. Why was she nervous? Panic struck more forcefully this time. Taking a breath and forcing himself to relax, he spoke as nonchalantly as he could manage.

"No, I hadn't heard, yet. That's... good news. How is he doing?"

"As well as can be expected after losing a dear friend." She looked away from Cullen yet again and took a couple little breaths before blurting out, "I hugged him. When he came back... came through the gates... we hugged."

Cullen felt his jaw clench involuntarily. The hammer pounding at the inside of his head threatened to explode from his skull, exacerbated by their heated exchange, and now this. Why was she telling him, anyway? Unless... she felt guilty for some reason. That would explain the nervousness. _But - Maker - what does she feel guilty about?_ He was surprised at the evenness in his own voice as he responded.

"Oh?"

"Yes. It was right downstairs in the courtyard. I didn't want you to hear it from gossips who'd make it out to be... something it wasn't. You know?"

Cullen let out a deep breath he hadn't realized he was holding. If that was all...

"You don't need to justify yourself to me, Evana. And you give many of your friends hugs. Why is this different?"

She suddenly started pacing. _Oh... Andraste._ The panic turned quite suddenly into a knife of jealousy sliding through his heart.

"It just... is. But... _Fenedhis_! I didn't mean to say it like that."

"Regardless, that _is_ how you said it."

Despite intentions, his tone came out harsh, but he was barely keeping himself together. She glanced at him as she paced, and he saw her eyes glistening as she gestured wildly.

"I know. I can't help it! You're the one who... who I always talk to when I don't know how to deal with something. Or when I'm scared of something. You even _told_ me... I have to talk through my fears and doubts! But... I know that's unfair in this case. I've always relied on you far too much. I shouldn't be talking about it... not with you. No matter what Cole says, it's not fair to burden you with it. But if not you, who? There's no one I trust as much as you."

She was rambling now, and he could only decipher bits and pieces of it. Most of it seemed gratifying. But the small part about "in this case" caused the knife to slide deeper. His breathing grew erratic as panic clawed at him, and he shook his head slightly. They'd never get to the truth unless they both calmed down.

Reaching out to stop her pacing, he pulled her to the chairs by the fire and sat her down. Then, he moved the table aside and pulled the other chair up until their knees touched when he sat down. Grabbing her hands, he looked her in the eye.

"You know you can tell me anything, Evana. _Anything_. Our previous... conversation should be proof enough of that. You can tell me. Even if it... even if I don't like it. I'd..." He swallowed and drew in a long breath in an attempt to ease the pain of his heart cracking open in his chest. "I would rather know the truth."

Her eyes went wide. "Oh... no! I don't mean... Andraste's holy teardrops! This entire thing is ridiculous!"

In spite of the seriousness, Cullen let out a nervous chuckle at her creative cursing. "Learned that one from Varric, did we?"

She gave him a pained half smile. "Yes. He's a bad influence... But... Cullen..."

The door handle rattled. Malia's muffled voice called out to him. He stood, checking the lock on the nearest door on his way. He opened the middle door, but before Malia could say a word, he cut her off.

"I'm occupied. Come back in fifteen minutes."

Confused and a tiny bit terrified, she started to back away. In the gloom of twilight, Cullen spied another messenger walking across the bridge toward him.

"On second thought, stay right here. Tell anyone who approaches that I am not to be disturbed for the next fifteen minutes. Or really, until I open the door again. Got it?"

"Y-yes, ser!"

Cullen closed and relocked the door and then headed over to the third door to lock it as well. He came back to the chair to sit in front of Evana and took her hands in his once again.

"You were saying?"

Her face was a strange mixture of warmth and disturbance, adoration and distress. She took a deep breath and began.

"I... I think... with the way Solas looks at me sometimes... the way he looked at me today..." She glanced away from Cullen and then looked back with a haunted expression. "I think he cares for me... in a... in a romantic way."

He felt his jaw clench again and let a heartbeat pass before he responded. "I know."

Her brows furrowed, and she blinked once, then twice. "You do?"

"He's cared for you probably as long as I have. I used to play a little game in my head about which one of us was more jealous of the other. I usually won. He seemed to have your attention more often... for a time, at least. He certainly saw more of you in those early days than I ever did."

Wide eyed, she blinked yet again. "I... I don't know what to say..."

Cullen shook his head, set his lips in a thin line and breathed out through his nose. He still held tightly to her hands, but she seemed to be slipping from his grasp. He felt powerless to stop it.

"All I need to know is... how do _you_ feel about it?"

"Awful!" she answered immediately. "I didn't mean for it to happen. I never wanted it. I knew... I guess I knew there was a _little_ something. Even since our first trip to the Hinterlands. It's why I've always been so careful around him. I didn't know it had gone so far - that he had continued to... But there's so much I can learn from him, Cullen! So much I've already learned about the history and lore of the People while talking and walking the Fade with him. I know him so well now - he's much more than just a mage. I've always felt like there was a deeper connection between us. I can feel when he's around without even looking. I know he can feel the same... but... Oh, gods! Cullen!"

Now he was the one pacing, his sudden dropping of her hands and movement away from her causing her exclamation. He couldn't take it. His stomach lurched and not just from the pounding in his head. The thought of her leaving him had always dogged him, nipping at the heels of every happy moment with her, but to have it be a real possibility? He felt sick inside.

He knew exactly what she was saying. A part of her wasn't his. A part of her belonged to Solas - might always belong to Solas. They had a _connection_. One that she'd never have with him because he was not a mage. In his bitterness, he nearly laughed aloud at the irony.

She got up out of her chair now, standing before him as he paced. Her voice dropped to a deadly quiet, her panicked breathing the only other sound in the room. He had to pause in his pacing to even hear her, and so he stood rigid like a statue, facing away from her as she spoke.

"None of that matters, Cullen. I don't want that with _him_. How could I when I have you? Whatever might be between me and Solas doesn't matter because what I have with you is so much more - infinitely more. I would _never_ give you up - not by choice. And I... I _only want you_. You believe me, don't you?" Her voice descended into a hoarse whisper. "Please... vhenan..."

Her words soothed him, but he resisted her for a moment longer even as he knew he'd eventually give in. To be without her... it had seemed impossible before, but now, after everything they'd been through, it was unthinkable. Even knowing they had such differing values, even knowing there was a part of her he couldn't touch, that was out of his reach - even knowing all that, he couldn't fathom giving her up.

Her hand tentatively slid into his as he remained facing away from her. She circled around to stand in front of him, still holding his hand. His fingers involuntarily clenched around hers - whether out of a subconscious rebellion at holding out on her or simply a force of habit he wasn't sure. A tiny, hopeful smile played at her lips as she felt him grip her hand firmly. But it dissolved into a pained, pleading look the longer he remained silent. Finally, he closed his eyes and pulled in a shaky breath.

"Of course. Of course, I believe you."

She gasped and surged toward him, wrapping her arms around his waist. His own arms immediately closed around her, his gloved hands rubbing slowly up and down her back. He felt her body shake slightly and then heard the sharp inhale of a sob. Sorrow and concern replaced his lingering doubts as he gathered her even closer.

"Evana... darling... it's alright," he soothed.

"You shouldn't be comforting me!" came her muffled reply. "I don't deserve that. Ir abelas, emma lath. Ir abelas."

The final vestiges of disappointment slipped from him as he felt the firm reality of her there in his arms. Jealousy still wound a thin string around his heart, constricting his normal full feeling, but her quietly passionate words still echoed in his brain - _I only want you_. Tears threatened at the edges of his vision. It was enough.

"I have nothing to blame you for," he replied, "so do not blame yourself."

His arms tightened around her, and he simply held her as she cried. Eventually, her sobs died down to an occasional hiccup. He pulled back slightly and handed her a handkerchief before pulling her back into him and resting his cheek on the crown of her head. After another moment of silence, he finally spoke.

"What is... emma lath?" he asked quietly, testing the words on his tongue.

He knew his pronunciation wasn't quite right, but she didn't laugh. In fact, she didn't say anything for a long time. Finally, she mumbled something indecipherable into the handkerchief. He lifted his head and pressed a kiss into her hair, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth in spite of the heaviness surrounding them.

"What was that?"

Without looking at him, she raised her head slightly and whispered, "It... it means... ... my love."

Cullen's heart stopped and then thundered violently against his ribcage. The woman would be the death of him - scaring him with all this talk of magic and Solas... then calling him her _love_. It was basically like she was saying...

"Oh," he breathed.

It was all he could manage as her eyes turned up to meet his. She held his gaze for a long moment before her whisper cut through the silence.

"I... Cullen... ... I-"

Another knock sounded along with a muffled "Commander?" at the door nearest to them, and whatever she'd been about to say died on her lips as she looked toward the door. He recognized the voice of one of his lieutenants through the door and internally cursed the man for interrupting. But the moment was gone, anyway, and as much as he wanted to stay with her - Maker, how he wanted it - he had to get back to work. They were leaving the same day as the Inquisitor, and packing up and marching an army across Orlais required much more planning than four companions riding off on horseback.

He bent down and kissed her tear-stained cheeks. She sighed softly and leaned into his embrace.

"I'm sorry. I have to get back to work now, but... shall I..." He cleared his throat and kissed her soft lips to have more time to choose his words. "Shall I come see you tonight?"

She gave him the first genuine smile of the evening. "Yes. Please. I'd like that."

 

**

 

Cullen found her still in her clothes, passed out on her bed and smelling distinctly of Bull's liquor. He sat down on the edge of the bed, but she didn't move at all. Only her gentle snoring betrayed her continued status among the living.

So, she _had_ gone back to drink more with Bull and the Chargers. He chuckled a little and then sighed. He'd allowed himself to hope that tonight might finally be the right time... But it was late, and realistically, he knew it wasn't ideal, even if she'd been awake - and sober. Then again, when _would_ be ideal in the middle of a war?

The simple truth was that he loved her, and now, he thought she might truly... Maker, she might actually love him in return. Reconciling their differences would require work, but she'd agreed to stay with him and do that work. She'd been given the opportunity to choose another, but she'd chosen to stay with him. His chest constricted and his breathe came in short puffs simply thinking about it. She'd called him her love. _Emma lath_. He tried not to read too much into it. After all, it was a familiar term of endearment throughout Thedas. Perhaps she hadn't meant for it to carry so much weight.

However, every time she left him, it was entirely possible she would never return, and he wanted desperately to tell her and to hear the words from her in return before they all departed on the day after tomorrow. Could he say them now? In truth, he thought perhaps he could. He nearly had just a few days ago, but his fear had gotten the better of him. Now though... despite their differences, he now knew she would choose _him_ above others.

But when would they find the time? He had just one more day to finish preparations for an entire army to begin their march across Orlais.

He sighed heavily once more and leaned over her, tracing a finger over her vallaslin as he had that morning. Not so long ago, he'd felt like an intruder in her room, but last night she'd welcomed him into her bed - asked him to stay. At least twice during the night he'd awoken disoriented, but her small movements and even breathing quickly reminded him where he was and who he was with. In those early morning hours, he'd pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

He leaned back, and she mumbled incoherently as he moved to the end of the bed and lifted her feet to unlace her boots. He smiled to himself. How many times had he done this now? He'd helped her to bed in her exhaustion, during her illness, and now in her adorable drunkenness. His hands glided gently, reverently over her calves and feet as he pulled off her boots.

She took a deep breath as he laid her foot back on the mattress. Her eyes opened, and her face broke into a wide, lazy grin. Her arms and hands beckoned to him.

"'ma lath, come t' bed."

He smiled and came over to sit by her side, taking her hands in his own. "In a moment."

She nodded, and her hands went limp as her eyes fell closed again. He looked her over and decided to leave her clothes for now. Her teasing that morning made him nervous to test her assertions of not wearing any smallclothes. In the back of his mind, however, he wondered how long it might be before changing her clothes became a lovingly repeated gesture alongside removing her boots. He longed for it as he longed for every comfort, every familiarity with her. Each one gained became more precious to him than the last.

Now was not that time, though. In fact, he pondered the wisdom of staying at all. This morning had been awkward enough passing by the guards at her door. Their faces had first registered confusion, then surprise, and finally a knowing, almost congratulatory glee. He was positive there couldn't be a soul remaining in Skyhold who didn't know that the Commander had spent last night with their Inquisitor. And they hadn't even done anything... yet.

_Well, if the damage is already done..._

Pulling off his own boots and, after moment's hesitation, his tunic as well, he slid into bed beside her and gently pulled her back against his chest. She murmured breathily again, and he let out a sharp hiss as she wriggled her backside to get closer to him. _Maker..._

Willing his body to stay calm, he wrapped his arm around the lithe form in front of him and thought fondly over the previous year of misunderstandings and reconciliations. In hindsight, he saw it all before him, every moment of tension, every doubt, every small gesture, blush or kind word interlocking with the next to create the present.

To his relief, their misunderstandings were fewer and farther between, but they still seemed to move forward in gigantic leaps. For days - weeks even - everything would appear to be flowing smoothly. Then, as with today, a small step forward in their relationship would cause a landslide. Perhaps that was simply the result of their limited time together. Non-private letters made it difficult to express any kind of affection while she was away, and their busy schedules left them little real time together... which was another reason why this felt so precious to him.

The fire popped lazily in the hearth as he adjusted the blankets. Comically, her bed was a bit larger than his, and he relished the way his feet didn't quite reach the bottom edge of the bed. His eyes drooped, but he forced them open. Tomorrow would be just as full as today, but he wanted to savor this moment just a little longer. However, exhaustion quickly overtook him, and he fell asleep to the soothing sounds of her quiet snoring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited and tweaked the ever-loving shit out of this chapter trying to get the tone and the balance just right. It's still not perfect, but I hope I managed to adequately convey where Cullen is at with his mage thoughts. He's introspective. He's growing. He's learning. But he's still indoctrinated to a large degree. In general, individual mages that he knows personally are people to Cullen, and he's fine with them being free. But mages en masse - even those under the banner of the Inquisition - are still a dangerous unknown that he wants to "protect" by exterting some sort of control over them. He has to come to terms with that cognitive dissonance in order for him and Evana to come to an understanding, but Evana couldn't have pointed it out in any possible way that would have gone over well with him. Hence... FIGHT!
> 
> They are going to be OK, everyone. I promise. ;)
> 
> Also, I forgot to post on the previous chapter, but the end of [Chapter 14 of Part 2 of the Revelations series - Truths Half Told Beget Lives Half Lived](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9047525/chapters/27986487) \- is set on the same day as the events of chapters 53 and 54.


	55. In which wider perspectives lead to declarations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evana continues to work on dealing with her emotions in a healthy way, with limited success. Cullen and Evana feel the pressure of the coming assault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait yet again! I've been working on catching up THTBLHL to where the end of this chapter leads us. I'm still not quite there, but this chapter was finished - I couldn't justify keeping it from you all anymore. :)
> 
> Also, warning for a mild AU moment at the end of the chapter.

Evana woke to the feeling of something smooth, hard and blessedly warm under her palm. She opened her eyes and watched in confused wonder as her fingers slid across the definitely naked and incredibly well-muscled chest of her lover. He was sprawled out beside her on his back, and judging by the his slow and even breathing, he slumbered on despite her half-awake groping. Not wanting to disturb him, she stilled her hand while trying to sort out the cobwebs cluttering her brain. What had happened last night?

She remembered leaving Cullen's office feeling like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. They hadn't actually come to a resolution, but now she knew he was willing to work toward one _with_ her. That he wouldn't turn her away for her beliefs or fight against her efforts to achieve her distant dream. She knew they had a lot of hard work and compromise ahead of them, but the clear commitment between them to _try_ made a huge difference.

Then, she'd gone back to the tavern where Dorian, Varric and Bull had teased her about the rumors currently flying around Skyhold. Apparently, "someone" had seen a certain Commander leaving her quarters at dawn yesterday. She figured the rumors had started with her night guards Dekken and Saleena. She would have to ask them about it - and obtain more discreet guards if they couldn't be trusted.

Strangely, none of her friends had mentioned her and Cole's cryptic conversation nor asked how things went with Cullen, so she gladly kept the information to herself. The Inquisition inner circle were the chattiest bunch of people she'd ever met, and if they decided to leave her be on a certain subject, she wouldn't complain.

After that, Bull had poured her a couple of drinks... at least. She couldn't remember anything more. It was a mystery how she even got up to her quarters.

And now she'd been gifted with a half-naked military commander in her bed. Her clothes were still fully in place, so she could only assume that he'd either been the one to bring her upstairs or that he'd come up as promised, found her already passed out and decided to stay with her again. Or maybe she'd asked? A vague memory of holding his hands floated hazily in the corners of her mind as if she were looking through foggy glass or gauzy fabric.

Regardless of the how, her commander was in her bed. Two nights in a row. He would spoil her with all this swoon-worthy muscle at her beck and call if he wasn't careful.

She stretched out a little and suddenly felt the call of nature. Moving as gently as possible, she extracted herself from the bed and padded over to her private room to relieve herself. Pain shot through her skull, and she groaned quietly. Her mouth felt like she'd been licking a sunbaked rock in the Approach all night, so she filled a glass with water and drank it down. It helped, but only a little.

Emerging from her private room and making her way to her desk, she pulled out one of the headache draughts she'd made for Cullen. He wouldn't miss one swig. The scent of the herbs refreshed her, and she swished the mouthful around in an attempt to defeat the awful taste left in her mouth by Bull's gut-rot alcohol.

_I need to stop celebrating dragon slaying so thoroughly._

After a few moments, the pounding subsided to a dull ache, so she quietly dropped another couple of logs on the dying fire and slipped back into bed. She sighed softly as she curled up against his warm side once more.

He murmured something in his sleep and turned toward her suddenly. His face contorted in pain, and a gut-wrenching whisper ripped from his lips.

"No! _Please_..."

Evana frowned and gently placed a hand on his cheek, lightly stroking his face and whispering comfort to him in elvish. Eventually, the pained expression faded, and his breathing evened out.

That must have been one of the nightmares he'd spoken of the night before last. She wondered how things would have ended if she hadn't been here. Perhaps he would have calmed down on his own. However, based on how early he usually awoke, she thought it more likely that her actions had delayed his waking. It would be another hour before dawn. She would let him sleep.

She carefully scooted closer to him and took the opportunity to study his face in the murky pre-dawn light, her sharp elven eyes absorbing every detail. The bliss of deep sleep left his forehead smooth and his face free of the cares he typically carried in the set of his jaw and the furrow of his brow. In the day-to-day, it was easy to forget he was only a few years older than her. Now, however, all was peacefulness as he slowly breathed in... then out through his nose. It reminded her of how he'd looked during their time in Honnleath - carefree and relaxed.

She felt her eyes closing and struggled to keep them open a bit longer by tracing the scar on his upper lip with her eyes, remembering well the feel of it under her lips. His stubble, usually freshly shaven at the start of the day but prickly by the evening, provided that rough but sensual look she adored.

Her eyes fell closed for a moment, but she forced them open to take in the strong, familiar line of his jaw, the pleasing natural arch of his eye brows, the slightly curling ends of his golden hair after a night's sleep. Creators, but he _was_ handsome.

Her eyes finally fluttered shut, and she couldn't manage to pry them open again. The haze of the calming headache draught along with the solid warmth at her side dragged her into the oblivion of sleep once more.

When she woke the second time, sun shone into her room, and she was alone in her bed. She sighed and pulled herself out of bed, already missing Cullen's warmth and the steadiness she derived from his mere presence.

She groggily poured herself another glass of water, but was happy to note the draught still seemed to be working on her headache. The sunlight merrily reflecting throughout the room barely caused her any pain.

Another sigh passed over her lips as her brain began ticking through the mental list of tasks she needed to complete before the end of the day. Today would be her last day in Skyhold for more than a month. If she went to the Hissing Wastes after the assault, it would likely be two months. And that was assuming they all survived taking on the Wardens.

With this thought came another that she'd been pushing back for weeks now. It finally edged its way into her consciousness as she padded toward her desk, and she reached for the back of the couch to steady herself as a wave of panic hit her.

Cullen. He would be leading the assault. He would be in mortal danger. Her heart pounded in her chest as the image of his lifeless form flashed before her eyes. This must be how he felt every time she went out into the field. Creators... how did he deal with it?

She reached up to stroke Cullen's amulet through her tunic, and took a deep, calming breath. In a small way, she could finally understand what it felt like to be the one left behind, but if he could get through it, so could she.

As she got ready for the day, she continued sorting through her mental list of last-minute things to take care of before they left tomorrow. She grimaced as she remembered that she hadn't yet asked Solas to accompany her.

She'd made the decision several weeks ago to use her first companions - Cassandra, Varric and Solas - as her strike team at Adamant - as long as Varric agreed to it and if Solas returned in time. She'd left the decision to Varric with assurances of no pressure, but in the end, it was Hawke herself who had encouraged him to go with Evana. The Champion's reasoning was purely logistical. The four of them still had far more experience together as a team than any of the others. They'd developed a rhythm - a near perfect knowledge of one another's strengths and weaknesses.

Evana couldn't fault that logic. It had been a few months since she'd been in the field with all of them together, but she knew they would fall into that familiar rhythm again as surely as she knew the sun would rise every morning. Hawke would march with Cullen and the rest of her companions. Evana felt better knowing the Champion would be at Cullen's side should anything go awry during the long march across Orlais.

But she knew _Cullen_ wouldn't feel better knowing Solas was with her. It was almost enough to convince her to take Dorian instead. Or even another warrior like Iron Bull or Blackwall. But Sahrnia and the red lyrium mines would be her most difficult task yet. She needed Solas for his defensive, healing skills as much as she needed him for his powerful offensive magic. And she also needed every advantage she could get in the battle at Adamant. Having her old team with her - a team who could anticipate one another's movements and needs - might mean the difference between life and death.

It didn't mean it would be easy. The otherworldly connection with Solas remained. She had made a conscious choice to disregard it, and despite the voice of Keeper Deshanna ringing in her ears, it was the _right_ decision. But it would be difficult to remain neutral when constantly in his company - both awake and while they dreamed together in the Fade.

Her mind still in turmoil, she headed downstairs to the great hall. Her guards saluted, and she was embarrassed to catch both of them stealing surreptitious glances at her and then grinning at each other. She turned to face them.

"I trust all is well, Dekken... Saleena?"

The guards stood at little straighter at her inquiry. Dekken answered for them both after a moment's pause.

"Y-yes, Your Worship."

"And I trust that neither of you would risk your positions in order to feed gossip in the keep?"

Their eyes widened as they simultaneously stammered out their denial of such a disloyal thing. She gave them each a steely glare, and suddenly they were facing forward, eyes straight ahead, deep blushes suffusing their faces. It remained to be seen whether her little scare tactics would do any good.

Not that it would make much of a difference in the end. She was quickly learning that being the Inquisitor precluded even the semblance of privacy. It chafed to know that people watched her every move - whether out of necessity or curiosity. She didn't often think of _after_ , but privacy was one thing she hoped she'd be able to regain if she made it out of this alive.

Once in the main hall, Evana's feet guided her to the door just across the great hall to visit the Undercroft and check on the progress of her new armor and staff. Harritt and Morgan seemed to get along swimmingly as long as they each kept to their own tools, which left Harritt more time to craft her armor without taking away from the needs of their army.

"Good mornin', Herald!" Harritt greeted her. "Glad you stopped in. I've got your new armor ready. It's made from your latest dragon trophy. I've also built it in layers. You'll be toasty warm in the Emprise, but you can remove the inner layer for a light but sturdy coat in the Western Approach. Also, the color will help camouflage you in both regions."

She grinned foolishly as he handed her the coat, cowl, arms and legs. They were mostly off-white with brown and tan accents.

"Try it on!" Harritt encouraged. "I want to make sure the fit is just right."

Evana slipped on the coat and then attached the arm and leg protection. It felt light, but she could already feel herself becoming warm. She moved a little away from the oppressive heat of the forge.

"It feels just right," she assured him. "I can move freely... but I think I'm already starting to sweat a little bit."

Harritt took a few moments to examine each seam and had her button the coat all the way to make sure the neck wasn't too restrictive. Dagna had come over while Harritt bent down to adjust the leg armor and nodded her approval.

"Fits you like a glove, Inquisitor. When you're done here, I've got your new staff ready, complete with a master rune specifically for slaying demons. They aren't gonna know what hit 'em!"

Harritt stood and finally gave Evana permission to remove the warm armor. "Best of luck, Inquisitor. I have no doubt you'll give 'em what they've got coming to 'em. Kill a demon or twelve for me, will you?"

Evana laughed. "Absolutely." She sobered and put her hand on the man's shoulder while pulling out the amulet with the other. "And thank you, Harritt... it's perfect. Just in case I... don't see you again, I want you to know how much you've meant to me. You were the first one to really welcome me to Haven. I won't ever forget that."

The gruff blacksmith's eyes went misty, and he shrugged. "Ahhh... it weren't nothing. You had a spark in you from the beginning. If I helped fan the flames... well, I'm honored you think so, anyway. And you'll make it back. You're too much of a fighter to let a few demons lick ya."

She patted his shoulder once more before turning toward Dagna. The dwarf pulled the staff down from where it rested on the wall and handed it to Evana with a giant grin. The pale wood was elegantly carved and inlaid with elven designs she'd never seen before, and the shining rune at the top sparkled with a light all its own.

"It's far more powerful than anything we've made you so far. The rune works especially well for demons, so your assault should be a piece of cake!"

"I certainly hope so, Dagna. It's..." Evana stopped to look more closely at the beautifully crafted staff and then looked up at Dagna in surprise. "... is this...?"

Dagna shrugged. "Don't look at me. Harritt's the one who insisted on ironbark. He even had an elven smith come here special to make it. The details are _exquisite_ , aren't they?"

Evana turned back and, without a word, pulled the smith into giant hug. "It's beautiful. Thank you. Both of you. I'll think of you every time I immolate a demon or red templar."

With a wink, Evana left them to their work. She took the new armor up to her room, changed into a formal outfit and came back down to find Josie and the nobles she was supposed to entertain for the morning. Despite the ambassador's attempts, the group ended up being particularly insipid, and she was glad to escape right after lunch with false apologies that she must prepare for her journey.

Instead of heading up the stairs, however, she escaped to the garden for a few moments. The unexpected bitter cold had claimed many of her plants, but overall, the garden seemed to be doing well. The mages attending the cultivation were working in various areas around the garden, setting up extra warming spells to safeguard the remaining plants. As such, Evana almost missed the small figure huddled over a little plot in the back. Her heart expanded as she realized who it was, but the smile curving her lips faded as she realized the little boy seemed to be crying. She approached quietly, and he jumped a little when she put a hand on his shoulder.

"Orian... what's wrong da'len?"

Instead of answering, the child rose from where he'd been squatting and wrapped his arms around her waist, still crying. As he moved, she saw the tiny sprouts she'd helped him plant had withered away to nothing in the cold snap.

"Oh! Ir abelas, da'len."

"They were her favorite. I let them die!"

She stroked his head and shushed him. "No, dear one. It's not your fault. The spring came early and then turned cold again. Most of my plants died, too, even with the magic of Skyhold to warm them. There's nothing you could have done."

He didn't answer. The sobs grew quieter, however. She gently pulled him away from her and knelt down to look into his stricken face. A pang of sorrow and an even deeper pang of sympathy shot through her as she recognized the loneliness in his glistening eyes. A flash of her own youth passed before her - the looks of suspicion from her clan, the lonely days spent working with the stoic Vash'an, the lonelier nights huddled in the corner of her mother's aravel. She might as well have been motherless, too, for all her mother had spoken to her in those days.

"I'm going on a trip tomorrow, and I'll be sure to bring you more seeds," she assured him. "We'll plant again. Your mother's flowers will grow. OK?"

He nodded tearfully. She pushed a swath of dark hair out of his eyes and gave him a tentative smile. He smiled sorrowfully back at her. Suddenly, an older woman appeared at their side.

"Oh, dear! Inquisitor! I hope the boy hasn't been bothering you."

Evana stood and smiled at the woman, then looked down at the boy. "Not at all. Orian and I were just talking about some flowers we're going to plant here in the garden when I get back. Isn't that right?"

Orian nodded vehemently. "Yes, and they are going to grow. I'm going to have the gardeners show me how to take care of plants. I'll make sure they don't die again!"

"Alright now, Orian. That's enough. Let the Inquisitor get back to doing her important work."

"OK. Thank you, Ev-" Orian shot a sidelong glance at the other woman and then started again. "Thank you, Inquisitor!"

"You're very welcome," she replied with a soft smile.

She watched the two of them wind through the garden paths and back up the stairs to the mage tower. Evana wondered if he'd also shown signs of magical abilities or if the mages were simply caring for him because of his mother. She'd yet to find the time to ask about the boy, but the afternoon interlude had renewed her determination to learn more about him.

Evana set about finishing up a few other tasks. The day had nearly gotten away from her, and Josephine would throttle her if she didn't at least make an attempt.

On her way to the stables to talk with Dennet later that afternoon, she stopped by to visit Cullen, but he was surrounded by soldiers. He gave her an apologetic look, but she grinned and shrugged, blowing him a surreptitious kiss as she slipped out the opposite door.

_So it goes when you're doing your level best to save the world._

 

**

 

The next morning, Evana once again stopped through Cullen's office on her way to the stables. It wasn't yet dawn, and as he hadn't joined her, she assumed he'd been hard at work all night.

Slipping through the door, her face softened at the sight of him fast asleep at his desk, his head resting heavily on his crossed arms. She leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. His eyes opened slowly at first, but then he sat up with a violent start.

"Evana! Wha... ? What time is it?"

"Almost dawn."

He groaned and a hand slipped up to his neck - this time out of physical rather than mental discomfort. He groaned again as she moved behind him to knead her fingers into his neck and push just a hint of healing and warmth through her fingers.

Instead of tensing as she'd thought he might, his head lolled forward, and he exhaled heavily. She increased the warmth and the pressure, kneading out the offending knots in his muscles.

"You keep that up, and you will put me back to sleep."

"Good to know," she teased.

He let out a small sound of protest when she removed her fingers, but it turned to a murmur of surprise as she came around and sat down in his lap. He looked nervously at the door she'd left open, but she threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled his mouth to hers for a slow, sweet kiss. When they were both thoroughly out of breath, she pulled away and gave him a bittersweet smile.

"I'll be gone before the messengers awake. I just wanted to take my leave, vhenan. I... I will see you soon."

He frowned and brushed the back of his knuckles over her cheek. "Not soon enough."

"Dareth shiral - safe journey - emma lath."

"You as well... love."

Her heart jumped in her chest, and goosebumps spread over her skin. _Love._ His breathing quickened, and his whiskey eyes turned dark as he spoke the endearment. A gloved hand caressed her cheek a moment before he leaned down to kiss her deeply. When they finally broke apart, she met his gaze as she took his hand and placed it on the amulet between her breasts.

"Don't worry. I have luck on my side."

"I pray it will be enough."

She took his face in her hands and looked him in the eyes. "It will be."

And strangely, she found she believed it. All the horrors she'd faced - dragons, undead hoards, darkspawn, good men turned to red crystalline monsters and, most terrifying, Orlesian nobles - came down to one thing. She had friends. Companions who would see her through. Advisors who would not lead her astray.

A mine full of red templars and a fortress full of demons and enslaved Grey Wardens wouldn't stop her now. Not when she had so many people to back her up.

Pulling herself from his lap, she leaned down to place another kiss on his lips. He stood with her, however, lips locked with hers the entire time. He broke the kiss and looked at her seriously.

"I missed this the last time. That won't happen again."

She gave him an adoring smile, and together they walked down the stairs to the stables. Varric and Solas were already mounted, and Hawke stood by Varric's horse as the two chatted quietly.

As they approached, Cullen greeted Solas in a stiff, formal way. Solas raised a questioning brow, and Evana sighed internally and shook her head. It was inevitable, of course, but that didn't make it any less awkward. Luckily, Cassandra emerged from the stables just then and broke the tension by leading her own horse as well as Evana's faithful mare - the one Dennett had given her in the Hinterlands - between the two men.

"Are you ready, Lyla? We've got a long way to go." The horse nuzzled Evana's armor, and she laughed as she pulled the carrot from her pocket. "Yes, yes. You're a good girl."

In what had become a kind of tradition, Cullen assisted her in securing her saddlebags. Then, she turned to face him and found him scowling at the ground. When she placed a hand on his cheek, the scowl faded into a look of concern as he lifted his gaze to hers.

"Maker watch over you," he whispered, his eyes boring into hers.

"Creators... and Andraste guide and protect you," she whispered back.

A sorrowful half smile split his face, and his gaze roamed her face as if he were committing the moment to memory. Then, he backed away to allow her to mount her horse. They rode out of the gates, and she only turned back once. Cullen and Hawke stood side by side just inside the archway.

"We'll see them again soon enough," Varric assured her.

His voice was genial as ever, but after a year of fighting, laughing and traveling together, she had deeper insight into his moods. He was as worried for Hawke as she was for Cullen.

She nodded. "They'll be traveling with an entire army. They'll be safe enough."

 

**

 

Storms from the cold snap rendered the lower passes unusable, so Evana and her companions traveled down the mountain paths to the Imperial Highway. It added a full two days to their trip, but finally, they reached the Emprise du Lion in the highlands of the Dales.

Snow covered the ground and weighed down the boughs of the evergreen trees with a distant, quiet kind of beauty, but the closer they got to Sahrnia, the more unsettled Evana became. A quick glance at her companions revealed a similar unease among them, and Evana snuggled more deeply into her new armored coat, her senses honing in on the sights and sounds around them.

"It is the silence," Solas said after a few miles of travel, notes of wonder and suspicion in his tone. "The forest is deathly quiet."

Evana perked her ears and then raised her brows. No sounds of animals scampering or howling into the frigid air. No creaking of branches or snapping of boughs under the weight of the snow.

"It's more than that, though," she murmured.

To her left, Varric shuddered in his saddle and shook his head. "It's the red lyrium. I'd bet my favorite quill on it. It's poisoned the whole area."

Evana shuddered along with Varric. She urged Lyla into a trot, eager to cleanse the region but also dreading what they might face in this unnatural part of the world.

As they approached the first camp, Evana was relieved to see Lace Harding along with a sea of Inquisition tents. Her relief turned to concern, however, at the look on Harding's face.

"Inquisitor," Lace bit out through a tense jaw.

"What happened here, Lace?"

"We're on the outskirts of Sahrnia." She turned and gestured to the rubble behind her. "This is what's left of the town. The lucky ones got out last fall before the river froze over. The rest? Penned in by Fade rifts and red templars all winter. We're the first friendly faces they've seen in a long, long while."

Evana looked past Lace and into what looked more like abandoned ruins than a town. "I should check in on the townsfolk... see what they can tell me."

"I'm sure they'll appreciate it, Your Worship. The red templars have been mounting frequent attacks. They want Emprise du Lion. Bad. Let's get out there and take it back from them."

Lace had clearly been deeply affected by what she'd seen. Evana felt a stab of fear but also a flame of anger rise up in her. These poor people...

"Have no fear, Lace. That's what we're here to do. How many Inquisition soldiers are with you?"

Lace pointed toward the tents. "We've got plenty of soldiers to hold the area, but we only arrived yesterday. I've made a map of our first choice of camps. Unfortunately, the areas are already held by the red templars. If you plan to do any fighting today, I recommend taking at least 20 soldiers to invade and then hold this camp."

Lace pointed to a location on her map just north of Sahrnia, and Evana nodded. "Alright. I'm going to go talk with the townsfolk. Organize me a group. I'll return to collect them when I'm done in Sahrnia."

The town had looked bad from a distance, but up close it was a disaster. Evana's heart constricted at the misery around every corner - buildings in shambles, walls fallen over and blocking roads and pathways. The few buildings still standing were packed to the brim with shivering people huddled around fires. Others had pitched tents in the snow and built outdoor fires from the rubble.

After assisting several people and talking with them about the situation, she found a Mistress Poulin who explained that she'd sold her quarry to the red templars. Evana's anger edged into her voice as she questioned the woman.

"How could you have sold land to the red templars?"

"I didn't know! I swear by Andraste's pyre. They looked like knights, chevaliers! Such pretty speeches." The woman shook her head in disgust. "They said they would reopen the quarry. Bring employment and trade back to Sahrnia. We'd been struggling since the war between the Empress and Gaspard began. How could I refuse? It was good... for a time. People went to work. They were paid. Then they stopped coming home. After that, the red templars stopped pretending."

When they left Mistress Poulin, Varric spoke what they were all feeling. "People not coming home... that doesn't sound good."

Cassandra scowled. "What now? Human sacrifice? Or are they somehow turning these people into red templars?"

A leaden ball formed in the pit of Evana's stomach as Fiona's red lyrium infested body flashed through her mind. She could not bring herself to speak it aloud, but she knew. Red templars were using the town's people to grow more red lyrium. She pushed down cold fear that clawed at her like a despair demon and sucked in deep breaths to bury the crippling flashbacks of Redcliffe. She could not lose focus now. These people needed her.

After returning to collect her contingent of soldiers, they moved forward to take the nearest camp on Lace's map. Just outside Sahrnia, they met a chevalier named Michel who told them of his quest to kill the desire demon Imshael taking up residence in the local keep. After a brief conversation, they wished Michel luck and left the chevalier to his mission.

"Something tells me we will meet Michel again before leaving this place," Solas noted as Michel disappeared into the unnaturally quiet landscape.

Varric shrugged. "Well, what else do we have to do? Fighting off a few red templars and destroying all their caches of red lyrium won't keep us occupied for long. What we really need is a _challenge_. Taking on a powerful demon sounds like just the thing."

Cassandra let out a little noise of disgust at Varric's sarcasm but added, "Taking the keep _would_ make holding the region much easier."

"No doubt, but what of this demon?" Evana wondered aloud. "Surely a regular demon would have no use for holding a place like Suledin Keep."

Solas furrowed his brow. "I have heard of this Imshael. He is an ancient being and very powerful. We would do well to be cautious. If he is there, it is not without reason."

They met their first red templars on the road just outside of Sahrnia. They dispatched the three templars quickly, but as they pressed forward, the increasingly numerous and giant shafts of red lyrium jutting out of the ground served to distract and unnerve them all. The dissonant hum of a sick song drilled into Evana's head, and she looked at Solas. He nodded in understanding.

They'd encountered limited caches of red lyrium in other regions, of course, but the sheer amount of it infesting the Emprise presented a new challenge. Her skin crawled with the power of the inescapable hum, but she found herself drawn to it as well. Again, Varric spoke for the group.

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit."

The scuffle for the first campsite took all of ten minutes. A few soldiers required healing, and Solas readily assisted. Evana did what she could with smaller wounds that didn't tax her limited knowledge of proper spells and anatomy. The rest of the day, they stealthily cut down as many red templars as possible in the areas outside the camp. In the meantime, the Inquisition soldiers started on building defenses for the new foothold.

Evana debated trying to take another camp before sundown, but as the light faded, the temperature plunged into a ruthless and bitter cold. Back at the forward camp, Lace sent Evana's short report back to Leliana and Josephine by crow, and they all settled in for a cold night in the Emprise.

Evana deliberately avoided seeking Solas in the Fade that night, but she could still feel his presence as a beacon among the grayed-out reflections of those who had lived and loved in the Emprise. For whatever reason, he did not seek her out, either. The ancient memories played around her like ghosts, and she distracted herself by stepping into a few. She wandered the elven ruins in her dreams, learning and exploring, and eventually forgot all about that gentle tug of Solas' magic nearby. Before she knew it, the dream world faded from her vision, and she woke to find Cassandra already up and quietly getting ready for the day.

The second day was more of the same - grab soldiers, march to the next campsite, kill red templars, set up an Inquisition camp. They managed to secure two more campsites around Sahrnia, and Evana felt fairly sure that the town would be safe from further red templar attacks. They reported back to Lace for the evening, and by this time, the scouts had been able to map more of the area. Unfortunately, the red templars had also now heard of the Inquisition presence in the Emprise. The next site - a main stronghold for the red templars - would not be so easy.

Knowing her normal method of a sustained, frontal attack wouldn't work well in this situation, Evana sat down to talk through strategy with Cassandra and the lieutenant assigned to the region. They eventually landed on what seemed to be a sound strategy, and on the following day, they attacked.

To Evana's surprise, everything went as planned, and that evening, Evana and her group stayed in the newly dubbed Tower Camp. Scout Harding moved her group to this larger camp as well. It was time to begin planning how she would take the quarry.

"My agents have ascertained that the mine has several choke points that could make things easier for you," Lace explained that evening. "Even with them knowing you're coming, you should be able to take it with little trouble. The real problem will be rescuing the workers who might be trapped there. You'll have to move swiftly. I've plotted a map... here." Lace handed her a piece of parchment with key locations marked. "The scaffolding will allow you the advantage of high ground, but the red templars also have their own archers. Be careful, Inquisitor."

"I will, Lace."

Evana spent a restless night falling in and out of conscious dreaming in the Fade. She nearly gave in to the urge to seek Solas' company - purely as a distraction from her own anxious mind - but decided against it in the end.

She awoke cold and exhausted, but at the thought of what they might find in the mines, energy thrummed through her veins, setting her blood on fire with a need to make this _right_. Before the sun broke over the horizon, Evana gathered her companions and let a unit of her best soldiers into the quarry.

During the next few hours, Evana gradually moved from fear, to horror, to a holy fire of rage. The dark corners of the sprawling mine crawled with misshapen monsters and red lyrium addled knights who might have been good, kind people once upon a time. Deep sorrow churned with the anger in her gut as she burned them down, one by one, and rid the mine of the infestation of evil that had held this region in thrall for too long.

Along the way, she also found exactly what she'd come for. Letters from Samson. Letters for Cullen. She tucked each one carefully into her inner armor and moved on to the next choke point.

In all, she managed to free about fifty people from their prisons in the quarry as she flew through the narrow passages like a cleansing fire. She immolated, electrocuted and froze everything in her path until not one red templar remained. And each cage they opened, each frozen, terrified person who offered her trembling thanks, served to solidify her desire to rid the world of Corypheus once and for all. She wanted to tear him apart with her bare hands, to make him suffer the way he'd made these innocent people suffer. She'd go out in a blaze of glory if only she could take him with her.

After they'd cleared the mine, she contained her seething rage as best she could and sent a few soldiers back to the camp to retrieve the clean-up crews. They then walked the mine to collect any letters or other information she might have missed. It was then that she found the evidence that Mistress Poulin had not only sold the quarry to the red templars but had also been selling off the workers for her own benefit.

The paper crumpled in Evana's hand, smoke curling around her from the barely contained fire roaring inside. In the absence of Corypheus, Mistress Poulin would have do.

Varric, however, hesitantly suggested that Evana send soldiers to arrest the woman instead. A flicker of rational thought won out, and she nodded, dispatching another group of soldiers to do just that. She would deal with Mistress Poulin later... when she wasn't quite so ready to rip the woman limb from limb.

That evening, Evana and her companions sat around the fire in subdued silence, but no one seemed to want to retire for the night quite yet. She couldn't blame them. They had experienced a portion of what she and Dorian had witnessed in that dark future, and it was enough to give anyone nightmares. In fact, images from her time in Redcliffe had haunted her for weeks afterward, and even now, flashes of that future occasionally tormented her. She knew tonight would be one of those nights.

As she finally retired for the night, the urge to find Solas in the Fade, to let him distract her from the harsh realities of the Emprise, nearly overpowered her. In the end, however, she didn't have to find him. He found her.

"You seemed distressed today," he said in that lilting tone of his as he approached. "I wanted to make sure you were well."

Evana sat in the center an elven ruin she had discovered two days ago. Memories floated past her, tempting her with visions of unknown histories and never-before-discovered lore, but she remained still. Wary. Watchful. Solas stopped a few feet away and gestured to the ground beside her.

"May I?"

She nodded, and he gracefully lowered himself to the ground. His presence filled the air with a quiet tension that seemed more powerful each time they spoke. Her heart beat a little faster, and she filled the growing silence by finally answering his implied question.

"I'm as well as can be expected, I suppose. You were quiet this evening, too."

Solas grimaced. "The day's events were... disturbing. But you were remarkable. You have grown so much since our first encounter almost a year ago."

Evana felt a rush of heat spread across her face. "My choices are to grow or to die. I have no wish to die, so I must learn and adapt. Corypheus misjudged me at Haven. I doubt he'll make the same mistake twice."

Solas raised an eyebrow and turned to face her. He leaned in, a curious expression contorting his angular features.

"I wonder. You are not the same woman from Haven. You are more comfortable, quicker to make decisions and stronger in both mind and body. I think it quite likely Corypheus _will_ underestimate you. You shamed him when you destroyed Haven. It spoiled his glorious victory. It would be worse to acknowledge that you had done so. He must continue his course or show weakness. But his anger against you for your victories will not serve to make him wiser. It will only make him less cautious."

"You speak as if you understand him."

"I do, in a way. The key is understanding this: no real god need prove himself. Anyone who tries is mad or lying. His deception will undo him, as it has done countless fools before."

She hummed in contemplation, his words distracting from her fear and anger as well as stepping into a memory would have. Solas was often reticent about his true thoughts and feelings, but he'd never steered her wrong before. If it were true that Corypheus would ignore her and pursue his own course, then she would be a fool to not take advantage of every moment his gaze turned elsewhere.

Samson had plans to become some sort of "vessel" for Corypheus - at least, that is what she had learned from the letters in the quarry. Perhaps Cullen could decipher the letters. If they could prevent Samson from becoming this vessel...

Now that her rage had subsided, she shuddered to think what horrors awaited her when she finally had to confront Corypheus. Anything they could do to foil the magister's plans would weaken both his claim to godhood and his hold on his followers. It was their only chance at bringing him down.

Evana eventually came back to herself and found Solas still beside her. He studied her with a strange intensity, as if searching for something in the lines of her face, the tilt of her brow, the curve of her lips. Suddenly, the silence between them seemed awkward and strange. She couldn't help comparing it to the companionable quiet she often enjoyed with Cullen. It had been one of main things that attracted her to the ex-templar. She shifted slightly and shot Solas a half smile.

"Sorry. Just thinking through what you said."

"It is of no concern. I enjoy being in your presence whether we speak or not."

She swallowed. She should say something, shouldn't she? But unlike some of his comments from their early acquaintance, this sentiment seemed harmless. Something you might say to a friend. She could no longer sit idle, however, with him staring at her like that. She stood and smiled down at him.

"Shall we distract ourselves from the depressing events of the day? I thought a few of these memories looked interesting."

He rose and tilted his head in acknowledgement. "I would like nothing better."

They explored the history of the ruin for the rest of the night, and Evana was relieved that the tension seemed to lessen as she spent more time in his company. She found herself critically evaluating his interpretations of those memories, however. Nothing seemed remiss, but her sense that he was hiding his true depth intensified. In short, she found that her original assessment of him was just as true - and just as disconcerting - as before.

It helped.

 

**

 

They spent four full days preparing to take Suledin Keep. By now, the demon Imshael certainly knew they were coming, so they took care to rest themselves and restock their supplies. Lace scouted the keep as closely as possible and sketched out a rough map while the lieutenant and Cassandra apprised the soldiers accompanying them of the plan they'd pieced together for taking the keep.

In the interim, Evana also closed the known rifts and located shards that would unlock more doors in the temple in the oasis. If they were to make the long journey to the Western Approach, she wanted to make sure she could gain as much power from the temple as possible. Solas would want to visit the place as well.

In spite of the soldiers backing them up, the actual storming of the keep took longer than she anticipated due to the extensive grounds around the keep and the number of guards. They were all a little worse for the wear after a run-in with several giants, but Solas kept them going, healing any larger wounds as they continued on. While the soldiers secured the route, Evana, Solas, Cassandra and Varric pushed on to the top of the fortress where the demon awaited them.

Imshael tried to persuade her to accept power or riches (or "virgins" ... really?) instead of killing him. She couldn't help it. She laughed in his face and sent him flying with a powerful force spell.

As they fought, Imshael shifted into different forms - fear demon, rage demon, pride demon - but they kept up a steady offense, and she dosed out healing potions as needed. Finally, when he seemed to be weakening, she pulled out her secret weapon and opened rift magic right over Imshael's head. Then, as he was immobilized by the rift energy, they hit him with everything they had. The demon fell, and then they all collapsed in exhaustion before eventually dragging themselves back to the tower camp.

Evana spent another couple of days finishing up loose ends and helping clear out remaining red templars, but finally, it was time to begin the long trek to Griffon Wing Keep with Harding and a spare contingent of soldiers not needed to hold the Emprise du Lion. Cassandra estimated they would arrive just as Cullen's forces did.

At first, they talked and joked along the road to keep themselves distracted, but as the days passed, Evana felt herself sinking further into herself. She worried over Samson's plans to become a vessel, fretted about what Corypheus might be planning while they dealt with the Grey Warden threat and agonized over the possible horrors awaiting them in Adamant Fortress.

In Skyhold, the threats of the outside world always felt so far away, but her experiences in the Emprise had planted her feet firmly back in reality. Being careless with her life was no longer an option - not necessarily for her own sake, but for the sake of Thedas... and of those she loved.

A new feeling, that. She'd always known deep down that her mother loved her. Deshanna, too. But now, she had friends who depended on her and cared for her in a real and overt way. She might still struggle with accepting that she deserved such affection, but it existed nonetheless.

In the harsh light of all the evil facing them, Evana felt the rightness of loving Cullen all the more. Her hesitancy concerning his prejudice against mages was valid, of course, but compared to all the things they had in common, it suddenly seemed less of an obstacle, somehow. If they could overcome an ancient power attempting to destroy the world, she felt confident they could make it through anything.

It wouldn't be so simple. She knew that deep down. But fighting by his side toward a safer world brought into focus all the things they had in common and quieted her fears in a way even their previous talk hadn't. She loved him, and after the assault, she would tell him. She _hoped_ he might be close to a similar emotion as well, but even if he didn't love her back, she wanted him to know how she felt about him. Then, they would work through their differences one step at a time until they both stood firmly on common ground.

On their final day of travel, Evana looked out to see a glinting in the bright, hot sunlight. As they drew closer to the glinting reflection, Evana's heart soared. Inquisition banners came into view, and she urged Lyla forward.

Cheers of "all hail the Inquisitor!" followed her down the line of men and women marching through the sand and heat, and excitement thrummed through her. She saw her other companions sprinkled among the troops - Blackwall, Iron Bull, Dorian, Sera, Vivienne, Cole - all there and no doubt helping to keep morale high throughout the seemingly endless march across Orlais.

As she approached the head of the army, she broke into a wide grin at the sight of the Commander - her glorious, golden Commander - leading the way on his war horse. He'd clearly heard the cries because he'd turned almost all the way around in his saddle in search of her. She spurred her mare on and sidled up next to him still wearing her ridiculous grin.

"Well, hello, Commander! Fancy meeting you here."

He fought off a grin of his own as he drank in the sight of her. His eyes roved all over her face before greeting her with a quiet, sensuous, "Inquisitor." Then, "You look tired."

Riding on her elation, she playfully stuck her tongue out at him. "And you look like you're wilting in this heat."

"I am." He let out a sigh and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. "I've been so long in the mountains, I'd forgotten what real heat feels like."

"We are almost to the keep. We can meet in one of the lower rooms - they stay cooler during the day."

Cullen nodded, and they rode in silence for a few miles, occasionally looking at each other with stupid smiles and blushes. Varric, Hawke and Cassandra had taken up position just behind them, and Varric was already filling in Hawke on the events in the Emprise. As Varric got into the swing of the story, he began exaggerating as usual.

"And then, she stood in front of a behemoth red templar the size of a dragon and shouted something terrifying in elven. The templar was immediately engulfed in one of her walls of fire and ran screaming off the cliff to his doom."

Cullen raised an eyebrow at Evana, and she shrugged, muttering, "Close enough."

"Something terrifying in elven?" he questioned with a hint of laughter in his tone.

"I was just trying to distract the thing because I thought it was going to end me. It certainly seemed like it at the time."

Cullen sent her a wicked grin. "What did you say?"

"Ar tu na'din. It just means 'I will kill you.' ... It sounds much more ferocious when I'm shouting it."

"I'm sure."

She almost stuck her tongue out at him again, but she noticed a few lieutenants and soldiers had gathered around to hear Varric's tale. She settled with playfully shooting darts at him with her eyes. The infuriatingly gorgeous man just chuckled at her, and her already full heart expanded yet again.

When Griffon Wing Keep finally came into view, Evana turned to Cullen. "I'm going to ride ahead. I'll meet you in the keep."

"Alright. We'll be right behind you. And Inquisitor?"

She'd been about to spur Lyla into motion, but his words stopped her. "Yes, _Commander_?"

"It is _very_ good to see you."

Evana sent him a wide smile, called to her companions to follow and rode on to the keep. Captain Rylen awaited her at the gate, and she greeted him warmly. He looked a little worse for the wear after months in the Approach, but the merry twinkle in his eye set her at ease.

"Inquisitor. Welcome back to the fiery Void that is the Approach. I wondered when our tropical climes would lure you back to paradise. I hope you had an uneventful journey."

The Captain's Starkhaven brogue always reminded her of the Free Marches, and his sharp sarcasm never failed to make her smile. She nodded at him as she responded.

"Yes, we had very little trouble on the road. Cu- the Commander is nearly here with the rest of the troops, so I imagine he'll want to meet as soon as possible for a briefing. Do you have a room available in the lower levels? Perhaps someplace where it's not quite so warm?"

"We're full to bursting right now. I think the only room not currently occupied is your office and quarters on the second level, Your Worship. Would that suffice?"

She furrowed her brows. "You keep a room for me, even when I'm not here?"

"Yes, Inquisitor."

She frowned. More deference. For what? A perfectly good room sat unused just in case she decided to travel weeks to get here? She shook her head and sighed. Now was not the time to argue the point.

"That will do. Shall we head there now?"

She heard the moment Cullen arrived. His commanding voice echoed through the keep as he directed his lieutenants to set up camp outside the keep and begin preparations to march on the morrow. Then, one of Rylen's soldiers arrived at the door with the Commander hard on his heels. Cullen extended his hand to Rylen, and the Captain took it with a giant grin on his face.

"Cullen! Good to see you. I hope all this sun didn't blister your lily-white skin too terribly."

Cullen couldn't hide the smile that crept to his lips. "Not too terribly. It's good to see you as well, Rylen. You've not been getting the Inquisition into trouble here in Orlais, have you?"

"Unfortunately, the heat, sand and poisonous wildlife keep us too busy to think about causing any real trouble."

Cullen smirked. "Thank the Maker for small favors."

Rylen's chin tattoos contorted in a wry grin as the two men shared a moment of camaraderie. Evana smiled at them behind her hand. A moment later, however, the lieutenants and her companions began filing into the room. Cullen let his commander mask fall back into place, and the briefing began.

Rylen reported that Warden Stroud had been watching the fortress for the past few weeks. In the Warden's last message, he'd indicated that the bursts of magic had increased in frequency before finally stopping abruptly the day before last. No doubt most of the mages had already been bound to demons. They would have their work cut out for them.

They poured over the map of Adamant for the next several hours, double checking strategy, and the hour had grown late before the men and women finally exited the room to find dinner and a place to sleep for the night. Her companions, all comfortable with their various roles in the siege, had long since left the room.

Rylen smirked at them both as he saluted his farewell, and she heard Cullen let out an exasperated sigh. The captain fought off the smirk as best he could and firmly closed the door behind him. They were finally alone in her quarters.

As soon as the door latched, Cullen lunged for her. She half giggled, half shrieked in surprise as his lips crashed into hers. They were both covered in dirt and grime from their travels, but she couldn't bring herself to care, her giggles subsiding into a soft moan when he firmly drew her against him.

Without breaking the heady kiss, he pushed her back toward the wall, hands digging into her hips, while she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling in the scent of heat and sand and sweat combined with his own familiar musk. The heady blend heightened her awareness of every twitch in his muscles and every hungry pull of his mouth on her lips.

It had been too long. Almost a month without his nearness had left her aching for him, and she wantonly pressed herself against the length of his body. She thought she might drown in her need to have him closer. Fingers grabbed at his neck, and a leg rose up to wrap around him. A low growl rumbled deep in his throat as he caught her thigh and held her leg in place. He pressed himself more fully against her, and she moaned again - longer, louder - at the feel of him between her legs, so close to where she desperately wanted him.

Finally, he groaned and broke away to catch his breath, though his hips remained where they were, cradled by her thighs. He brushed light kisses across her heated cheeks before finally speaking softly into her ear.

"I missed you, my love."

The endearment slid over her like silk. She was already breathing hard from the kiss, but the goosebumps were purely a result of the low timbre of his voice.

"I missed you as well, ma vhenan'ara."

Reluctantly, he let her leg gently drop back to the ground and pulled back to look her in the eyes. A strange, almost pained expression flooded his face.

"I wish I could stay with you, but there is still much to do and arrange with Rylen. And the troops - I would like to stay with them tonight, for morale. Tomorrow afternoon, we march. Tomorrow evening, we attack a fortress full of demons. It would be better if I'm with them... but I wanted you to know... If I seem cold or my words harsh during the battle, it's because-"

She stopped him with a hand to his cheek. "It's alright, Cullen. You'll be in your Commander role. I expect nothing less from you."

He smiled at her, leaned down, and closed his eyes as he rested his forehead against hers. They stood there like that for several long moments, their breathing gradually slowing to normal levels, and all the while, thoughts tumbled chaotically through her consciousness. The fear she'd thought she worked through on their long journey to the Approach slammed into her with renewed force, and her emotions spun out of control.

_What if the Inquisition is overrun? What if one of us falls? What if this is my last real chance?_

The confluence of urgency, doubt and timing conspired to make her bolder, more forward... and more open. She'd determined she would wait until after the assault, but why when they could die tomorrow? The words bubbled straight from her heart and out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"Ar lath ma..." she said urgently. "I love you, Cullen. You know that, right?"

Every muscle in his body tensed at once as he let out a harsh breath, but he didn't speak nor did he look at her. He sucked in a long, slow breath and pulled back slightly, gradually raising his eyes to hers. They were dark and piercing, his expression one of seeming pain.

Self-doubt reared its ugly head. She'd said the words, but he didn't want them. Now there was no taking them back. _Mistake! Oh, Creators! I shouldn't have said anything! I've made a horrible..._

"Evana," he whispered brokenly before sucking in another tremulous breath. "I love you so much... my heart... my darling..."

Almost before he finished speaking, his mouth descended upon hers in a frantic press of needy lips. His words were a salve to her bruised soul. He loved her. He actually _loved_ her, and he was here with her now. Perhaps...

A new and stronger flush of arousal heated her cheeks as a gloved hand moved from her waist to grip at her backside. He roughly pulled her against him once more, and his armor bit into her with the force of his hold, but she didn't care.

Their mouths opened to one another, tongues sliding and stroking and sparking even greater urgency. A haze of desire suffused her body with every deep, frenzied pull of his mouth. Her breasts felt full and heavy, the tight peaks chafing against her clothing.

When his hand reached up to cup her breast, she whimpered at the momentary relief. And yet the burning memory of his hot hand stroking her naked skin, his tongue laving over those aching buds, reminded her of how much better it could be. While her lips demanded increasingly long and drawn-out kisses, she scrambled for the clasps of her shirt, desperate to feel that rush of pleasure and connection once again.

He seemed to realize her intent and shuddered against her. His breaths landed hot against her neck as pulled away from her mouth to trail kisses down her throat, his tongue and teeth vying for dominance. Her hands stilled briefly at the flood of pleasure that pulsed through her and straight down to her core. A needy groan escaped her lips, and he grasped her ass tighter, pushing her hips into his as he made a shallow thrusting motion.

"Maker, Evana, I want..."

" _Yes_..."

A knock at the door and a hesitant, muffled, "Um... Commander?" had them flying apart. They stared at one another, breathing heavily, and then they both burst into shaky laughter. Evana's hands trembled as she slowly redid her open clasps, her legs and arms weak with the force of denied passion.

"Interrupted again," she finally managed to squeak out.

He gave a dry chuckle, his cheeks stained with color. "It seems to be a recurring theme..." He raised a hand and played with the loose tendrils around her face. "Evana..."

He stopped, and another knock cut him off just as he was about to speak again.

"Just a moment!" he bellowed toward the door.

" _That_ won't have them talking," she teased.

He gave her a smug grin and caressed her cheek with the back of his gloved hand. "As if I care. You love me. I'd shout it from the top of this keep if it wouldn't distract everyone from the task at hand."

She dropped her mouth open in playful shock. "Why, Commander! How bold. I could do the same, you know. I suppose we'll just have to both stay alive through this so we can publicly proclaim our love."

His face became serious. "I'll take that as a promise."

He leaned forward and kissed her again, this time gently, almost reverently. She knew he'd feel differently after the elation wore off, but still, a thrill ran through her at the idea. That her stoic, private Commander would even be willing to tease about some sort of public display... he must truly love her. His sigh as he broke away brought her back to the present.

"I must go."

She pushed up on her toes and kissed his cheek. "I know. Don't forget to sleep at some point tonight, Commander. Your Inquisitor needs you at the top of your game tomorrow."

"Your wish is my command."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then pulled away to give her a low bow. The way he looked up and smiled at her mid bow reminded forcefully of the first time he'd done that same thing. The night of their very first real conversation. The night she'd teased him for the first time.

She smiled at him, and he turned away to open the door. A messenger immediately handed him a report, and after a tilt of his head and half smile directed at her, he took off to be her Commander. The selfish part of her lamented his departure, but the warmth of their mutual declarations of love carried her through not seeing him that night nor well into the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Evana is the type to bury her feelings until they explode from her in times of high stress. While she's learning that this is bad and trying to change her habits, she's not doing a great job with it. Also, Cullen is used to sending her off not knowing whether he'll see her again, but for Evana, this is the first time since Haven that she's having to deal with her fear for his safety.
> 
> So, all that to say that the ending scene might not exactly be canon, but it's much more fitting and in character for my Quizzy to declare her love for Cullen in this way than waiting until after they've slept together.
> 
> Also, if you're interested:
> 
> Chapters 15-18 of Part 2 of the Revelations series - [Truths Half Told Beget Lives Half Lived](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9047525/chapters/28818816) \- are set during the events of chapters 55. Fair warning, that story is now rated E for events occurring in chapter 17.


	56. In which luck is for suckers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke isn't the best at introspection, but a yet another near-death experience has her reevaluating things. Also, Cullen is such a sap, amirite??

Hawke looked down from the flag tower at the mighty formation sprawled across the desert before her. The Commander had done an admirable job of organizing what had to be the single most impressive military display since the Blight - with her help, of course. And they were only minutes away from beginning the march to Adamant.

The typical excitement tempered with a dash of caution slid down her spine as she watched the masses of Inquisition soldiers mingle with the few contingents of chevaliers sent by the Empress. It was a sight to behold - banners waving in the hot wind and polished armor glinting in the afternoon sun. Hawke took another moment to admire the sight, then slid down the ladder and slapped Varric on the back as she passed by.

"See you there, Storyteller."

Varric turned from his conversation with some of the other companions and shot her a narrow look as she kept walking. "And where do you think you're going?"

"I'm going on ahead," she called out. "I'll be in front, single-handedly carving a path through the fortress for you and your Inquisitor, remember?"

"I thought that was the front _ranks_!"

Hawke laughed and patted the hilt of the massive greatsword strapped to her back as she shouted over her shoulder. "I _am_ the front ranks. Besides, someone's got to keep these admirable men and women alive to fight another day."

She quickly made for the stairs, avoiding the look she knew he was glaring into her back and the grumbles no doubt uttered in her direction. He worried for her, and truth be told, he was right to. She took too many risks with her life and safety, but that was the only way to become a Champion, right? Fenris understood. It was why they made such a great pair.

_No. No thinking about Fenris. Not today._

She strode purposefully through the middle of the keep on the way to the front gates to meet Stroud. The Warden had returned late last night, and they'd talked over plans with Cullen after the rest of the keep had gone to bed.

The Commander had agreed that having them both in the first wave would be advantageous but encouraged at least one of them to remain with the Inquisitor. She would need their help to face Warden-Commander Clarel and likely the Magister Erimond. Hawke had volunteered Stroud, of course. The Warden looked like he would argue, but Hawke had pointed out that his presence with the Inquisitor might convince other Warden warriors to surrender. At that, Stroud grudgingly conceded.

The man's continued concern for his brothers and sisters in arms did him credit, but Hawke couldn't help the surge of anger at the fact that they were here at all. Couldn't the Wardens just save the world without trying to destroy it, too? Of course, if she were being honest with herself, she would have to admit that they wouldn't be in this position if she hadn't freed Corypheus in the first place. But when had she ever been honest with herself?

The most interesting part of the evening, however, had been the flash of softness in Cullen's eyes when the Orlesian Warden promised to protect the Inquisitor with his life. Of course, Hawke knew Cullen had personal reasons - on top of the "save the world" reasons - to make sure the Inquisitor had all the back-up she needed to get the job done and _stay alive_. Still, it was strange to see her favorite curmudgeon so obviously in love - a man she'd always assumed would rather die alone than risk his reputation on an affair.

Taking the final stairs down to the gate, Hawke smiled to herself as she considered once again how much the ex-templar had matured in the past five years. He was tough and driven, but also far more steady and discerning than when she knew him during the years leading up to the Kirkwall Rebellion. He certainly considered other viewpoints more readily than before. Her grin widened.

_And exactly how much did his lovely mage Inquisitor contribute to that particular improvement in his disposition, I wonder?_

Thoughts of anything but the battle ahead fled her mind as she passed through the gate and found Stroud with two horses at the ready. They didn't speak, but she held Stroud's gaze for a moment before giving him a quick nod of mutual understanding - neither of them wanted this, but they would die for it if necessary. She double checked her armor, potions and greatsword one last time, mounted the horse he offered her, and rode with Stroud to the front of the line.

They approached to find Cullen riding back and forth and shouting out orders any time he saw something amiss. The Inquisitor sat quietly on her mare among the front line of troops, an unreadable expression on her face.

If Hawke had learned nothing else in their time together, she'd picked up on the elf's withdrawn nature. Varric had warned her about it, of course, but experiencing it brought back memories of another reticent and broody elf. And those thoughts needed to stay far away from her today.

"Good morning, Inquisitor!" Hawke called out. "Pleasant day for killing demons, isn't it?"

The Inquisitor turned to watch the warriors' approach and gave Hawke a wry half-smile. "Good to see you, Hawke. And you, Stroud. I must admit, I _am_ ready to get on with the demon slaying. All this organizing and waiting about... It's a bit nerve-wracking. I'm glad Cullen is in charge of all that."

"Used to just charging in and saving the day, eh? Can't say that I blame you." Hawke placed a hand to her chest and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm also more of an off-the-cuff fighter."

"You? Really? I had no idea."

Hawke laughed louder at the sarcasm dripping from the Inquisitor's voice. _I like this elf more and more all the time._

Cullen rode up at that moment. He nodded to Hawke and Stroud and then looked to the Inquisitor. Hawke nearly blushed at the heated glance shared between the two lovers. It was brief but clearly held meaning for them both.

Before she could stem the tide, more thoughts of Fenris flooded into her consciousness. She wondered sadly if she'd ever see that look on his face again.

_Stop it! You're only torturing yourself. No more thoughts of Fenris._

And no dying if at all possible. The taciturn elf would never speak to her again... or worse, never forgive her.

"Alright, lovebirds," she called in a too-bright tone. "Are we ready to get this circus on the road? I've got a date with some demons, and I don't want to be late."

Both Cullen and the Inquisitor blushed slightly, but in another instant, Hawke watched their masks fall back into place. He and the Inquisitor road up an outcropping at the head of the front line and turned to the troops. Cullen's voice, loud and booming, echoed against the walls of the keep far behind them.

"Inquisition!"

A massive roar followed, a rising tide of furious sound that washed in and then receded into a dull hum. Cullen raised his voice again, speaking slowly and clearly as the force before them quieted into an eerie stillness.

"Today, we march forth to rob our enemy of yet _another_ army. We march to stand against and reclaim the Grey Wardens from the hands of treachery and deceit. We march for the men, women and children of Thedas. Today, we stand with our Inquisitor, our Herald, to fight against the evil of the world!"

He paused and another mighty, spine tingling roar rose up from the masses. Finally, the crowd quieted to stillness once again, but Cullen only had three words for them.

"Inquisition! We march!"

Excitement arced through Hawke's body as cheers erupted from the sprawling force and, as one, the mass of bodies moved forward. The Commander and Inquisitor road back down the incline, and Cullen raised his arm as they took their places in front. At his signal, the lieutenants began directing their units to specific locations, and suddenly, the entire army fell into a steady, practiced march.

They were on their way to Adamant.

 

**

 

Hawke had long ago lost the Inquisitor in the jumble of action. They'd reached Adamant just as the sun was setting behind the rocky horizon, and the elf and Warden had gone to meet with the other companions. Hawke, on the other hand, had stayed on the front lines and taken the first opportunity to scale a ladder into the fortress. Once over the parapet, she'd single-handedly cut a path for the flood of soldiers following her up the ladders.

Not that she was bragging or anything.

The trebuchets had done extensive damage to the ramparts already, but the fighting on the walls was intense. Hawke cut down yet another demon, struggling to keep her balance with all the blood and icor pooling at her feet. She'd made sure to keep the walls as clear as possible and allow Inquisition soldiers to climb up unimpeded by arrows or rocks or hot oil, but she'd had to claw and fight for every inch. She'd taken a few hits, but nothing serious so far.

The sound of wood pounding against wood told her the soldiers had finally positioned the battering ram at the gates. Good. That meant they had pushed up to the walls already. She could see fighting going on outside the walls but only small skirmishes. As soon as they cracked the doors open, the Inquisitor would be through with Stroud, Varric, Cassandra, and Solas not far behind. After them, the majority of the troops would flood the fortress to hunt down demons. Things were going splendidly.

A resounding crack echoed through the fortress as the gates collapsed. Hawke turned to a few of the soldiers who had come up the ladder behind her and managed to hold their ground so far.

"I'm moving forward on the battlements," she yelled over the raging sound of battle all around them. "Keep this area clear for more troops to ascend!"

"Yes, Champion!" a man responded without a second glance, his eyes focused on an approaching demon.

Hawke moved further down, felling demons, Warden mages and warriors and the occasional Venatori on all sides. This far along, the battlements overflowed with nothing but enemies. Hawke took slow breaths in and out as she focused on the precise movements of her sword, kept track of her guard and danced between her foes on surprisingly light feet. It had always been her strongest asset. Everyone expected a warrior to be slow and heavy, but Hawke danced about as she severed arteries and limbs, wielding her greatsword as if it weighed no more than a dagger.

A Warden mage suddenly jumped into Hawke's path, already pulling on the blood of a fallen warrior for a spell. Hawke gritted her teeth against the rage that flooded her veins, and without a second thought, she spun in a whirlwind arc and easily lopped the mage's head off. The spell sputtered and died along with the brainwashed mage.

Hawke seethed through her next few kills. _Damned blood mages, making things difficult for everyone._ A vision of Merrill popped into her brain, but she pushed image away. Merrill's dabbling in blood magic had caused them all nothing but trouble, not to mention the loss of the elf's entire clan.

And Merrill wasn't here now. She didn't have Fenris, Aveline or Bethany, either. Isabella had long since betrayed and deserted her, and Anders... Hawke refused to think about how he'd played her in the end. Now, she only had her trusty dwarf, and she would need to focus if she wanted to make sure they both got through this alive.

As she made headway along the battlements, she stopped at each ladder long enough to let a small group of Inquisition soldiers climb up. She instructed them to hold the location and then moved on. Eventually, however, a glut of enemies halted her progress, and she found herself slowly being pushed back.

A unit of Inquisition soldiers came to the rescue, pushing forward with her to a wide, open area where a couple of despair demons floated here and there. Hawke attacked without prelude, running one of the demons through before it could react. The other sent a blast of ice her way, but she ran forward anyway, her guard protecting her from most of the icy crystals attempting to slice her armor and skin.

She focused so hard on the despair demon that she didn't notice the rumble under her feet at first. The terrified cry of her companions, however, jerked her into awareness. She lunged forward to plunge her sword into the other despair demon, and it dissolved into goo at her feet as another rumble shook the battlements.

Hawke brushed off the ice that clung to her armor as she looked hastily around her for the source. She turned toward it just as that blood-curdling and all-too-familiar laugh cut through the din of battle, and the crackle of a lightning whip slashed through the air.

Hawke closed her eyes and groaned. A pride demon. She turned to give orders to the group of Inquisition soldiers still at her back, but the massive beast threw a ball of lightning at the group before she could open her mouth. All but one hit the ground and lay there groaning... or remained disturbingly quiet. Hawke turned to her remaining companion, a young man about half her age.

"Well, isn't this my lucky day?" she quipped. "I thought for sure they'd save all the giant demons for the Inquisitor."

Her companion chuckled reluctantly. "As you say, Champion."

His voice trembled, and Hawke knew immediately he'd be useless in battle. He'd only get himself killed or, worse, get in her way. He took up a battle stance as the demon bore down on them, but she grabbed his arm, and shook her head.

"Oh, no. I'm not letting you get the credit for this one. I took down a Qunari Arishok. I can handle a little pride demon. You go force some healing potions down your companions' gullets while I keep it off you."

She didn't give the young man a chance to respond, but ran forward instead, yelling to pull the demon's attention away from the moaning heap of charred soldiers. The demon instantly honed in on her, letting a ball of lighting fly. She barely dodged the ball of death, but thanks to her fleet feet, she was up and flanking the demon before it knew what hit it. Running at full speed between flicks of the lightning whip, she skidded behind it to slashed at its legs.

The demon roared in outrage and pain, swiping behind it as it turned. But Hawke was faster by far and danced out of reach, slicing higher to cut through the creature's thighs and groin. She maneuvered to stay behind the beast as she continued to slice through tendons and arteries, but eventually, the demon seemed to catch on to her tricks and sent the whip flicking backward. Hawke jumped, but not in time to avoid a shock to her legs.

Her whole body went numb for a moment, and she stumbled backward to get out of the way... just as she saw the Inquisitor round the corner of the battlements. Her group cut down a unit of advancing Warden archers and mages and then immediately took up against the pride demon. By this time, feeling had come back to Hawke's legs - no burns thanks to her resistant armor - and she joined the Inquisitor's group. The six of them made short work of the already worn-down demon.

"Lucky we found you before you got toasted!" Varric hollered as he approached. His eyes sparkled but also held a touch of seriousness. "According to all the soldiers we passed, you've been a veritable one-woman battering ram."

"Well, they say to stick with what you know," she quipped back as she leaned over, hands on her knees, to catch her breath. He just shook his head at her, so she turned her attention to the Inquisitor. "I thought your troops could use some help up here. We've been slowly gaining ground."

The Inquisitor nodded. "Appreciated. Still, resistance is heavier than we'd hoped. I need a path to the center of the fortress."

Hawke straightened, the brief reprieve restoring much of her stamina, and then smirked. "Let me see if I can get their attention."

She ran forward, sword flashing, as the Inquisitor followed. The resistance _was_ heavy, but Hawke cut them down all the same. Eventually, however, she hit a large swath of demons. The Inquisitor caught up with her, and they dispatched the remaining enemies together. The Inquisitor then turned to a soldier bearing the Inquisition symbol.

"Report!"

"Our forces are holding up against the demons, Inquisitor, but only barely. The Warden-Commander should be just ahead. Our scouts say she has a host of Wardens and demons with her. Commander Cullen will hold a path open for us as long as possible. Our forces are ready when you are."

"We're heading in now. Take care, soldier."

Hawke sighed as they pushed forward. "Just once, couldn't it be puppies instead of demons? I don't think that's asking too much. A massive force of puppies. Then again, sharp little puppy teeth _can_ be pretty dangerous."

She heard the Inquisitor, Stroud and Varric let out breathy chuckles, but Cassandra and Solas looked at her funny as they rushed ahead. _Some people just don't have a sense of humor._

Stroud cut the awkward silence with what sounded more like a plea to himself than a comment to the rest of them. "Not all the Wardens have stood against us. Some have fallen back. Maker willing, we may be able to reason with Clarel."

Cassandra nodded. "Let us hope so."

As they opened the door to the inner courtyard of the fortress, they heard a voice ring out over the din. "Wardens, we are betrayed by the very world we have sworn to protect!"

Wardens gathered around a tall dias at the opposite end of the large courtyard. Standing on the dias stood Erimond and a person Hawke presumed to be the Warden-Commander. The Magister Erimond looked their way and spoke to Clarel. Then, an older Warden moved forward on the dias.

When Clarel drew her knife and stood behind the Warden, Hawke realized what they were about to do. Her gut twisted, and she groaned aloud as the knife slid across the older man's throat. The man fell to the ground, and they rushed forward as Erimond called out to the Wardens on the ground before them.

"Stop them! We must complete the ritual!"

The Inquisitor halted abruptly in front of the Warden mages and warriors. Hawke tried to continue moving forward, but the Inquisitor threw up her hand in a silent directive to remain still. Then, slowly, she moved forward, arms out and away from the staff strapped to her back. The enemy Wardens closest to her - all warriors by the looks of confusion on their faces - hesitated as well.

"Clarel!" the Inquisitor shouted. "If you complete this ritual, you're doing exactly what Erimond wants!"

Erimond walked to the edge of the dias, hands up. "What? Fighting the Blight? Keeping the world safe from darkspawn? Who wouldn't want that? And yes, the ritual requires blood sacrifice. Hate me for that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty."

Clarel stepped up beside Erimond. "We make the sacrifices no one else will. Our warriors die proudly for a world that will never thank them."

Next to her, Stroud let out a loud growl. "And then your Tevinter ally binds the mages to Corypheus!"

Even from that distance, the surprise on Clarel's face was evident. Hawke barely heard her denial.

"Corypheus? But he's dead!"

Erimond turned to Clarel, whispering words of poison in her ear, no doubt. But Hawke could see Clarel's confidence waning. Dared they hope...? Suddenly, Clarel's face hardened.

"Bring it through!"

"No such luck," she grumbled to herself. "Should have known it couldn't be that easy."

Varric turned and gave her a mocking smile. "Nothing is when you're involved, Hawke."

She punched his shoulder lightly and then focused on the Inquisitor as the elf inched toward the Warden mages. They held the magic stable with the blood of the Warden warrior Clarel had murdered, and a familiar, sickly green glow coalesced in the center of the courtyard even as the Warden warriors moved forward to protect the mages. Hawke felt an overwhelming desperation overtake her as they moved toward one another.

" _Please_!" she called out. "I have seen more than my share of blood magic! It is _never_ worth the cost!"

Stroud chimed in beside her. "I trained half of you myself. Do not make me kill you to stop this madness!"

The Inquisitor, ever the diplomat, still held them back. "Listen to me! I have no quarrel with the Wardens! I have spared those I could." Her voice broke. "I don't want to kill you, but you're being used... and some of you know it, don't you?"

A tense silence filled the air. Clarel stood motionless. Suddenly, a Warden from the front stepped forward.

"The mages who've done the ritual... they're not right. Some of them were my friends, but now they're like puppets on a string!"

Clarel shouted down at him. "You cannot let fear sway your mind, Warden Chernoff!"

Hawke cursed internally at the stupidity of it all. "He's not afraid! _You_ are! You're afraid you ordered all these brave men and women to die for _nothing_!"

"I honor your bravery, my brothers and sisters," Stroud added. "But this is not the way. You have been tricked."

Hawke saw the doubt in the eyes of the Warden warriors before them. They turned to Clarel, who was clearly hesitating now. _Damn, this talking thing just might work this time._

Erimond spoke with Clarel again in a low voice. She responded hesitantly, and the Magister spun away from her in anger. He began banging his staff against the cold stone of the dias as he called out to them.

"My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor! He sent me this to welcome you."

Another chill went up Hawke's spine as a deafening roar split the sky. They looked up at once to see the dark form of a dragon - of Corypheus' archdemon - bearing down on them.

"Dammit!" Hawke shouted as she dove for cover. "Why did I even _think_ talking might work? I jinxed us all! Sorry everyone. My fault!"

A fog of red lyrium breath cut a swath down the middle of their party, but they all managed to dodge in time. In the next few moments, however, chaos descended as the group struggled to reform. The dragon landed on a tower just above them, and no one knew where to look - to the dragon on one end of the inner courtyard or to Erimond on the other.

Hawke had already made up her mind, though. She wanted the magister. She'd only reached the bottom of the stairs, however, when a bolt of electricity hit the magister from behind. Varric muttered from Hawke's left.

"Well, it's about damn time, Clarel."

They watched as the Warden-Commander then shot a blast of electricity at the dragon. The dragon spread its wings and swooped down on them, the fire of its breath just missing both Clarel and Erimond. As the Warden-Commander ran after the fleeing Erimond, they heard her shout to her Wardens over the cacophony.

"Help the Inquisitor!"

Hawke sighed in relief but then groaned as she turned around to see the chaos in the courtyard. "Thank the Maker for the help. We're gonna need it!"

Abandoning the magister to Clarel, Hawke and Varric ran back to assist the Inquisitor. Without the stabilization of the mages, the rift throbbed and crackled as it spawned demons in their midst. The Warden warriors seemed to be taking Clarel's orders seriously, however, and set to work containing the mages and cutting down the spawning demons.

As the smoke from the dragon's breath cleared, however, they came face to face with exactly what the rift had spawned. The fine hairs on the back of Hawke's neck rose to attention as the laughter from not one but _two_ pride demons rang out against the courtyard walls.

But the Inquisitor rallied the Warden warriors, and under her direction, little by little, they wore the demons down. The first fell at the hands of the Wardens, and the second dissolved into a hissing pile of smoking icor after the Inquisitor raised a huge wall of fire directly under the demon's feet. Hawke's eyes widened in appreciation.

The Warden warriors managed to capture two of the five mages alive. The mindless mages gnashed their teeth and struggled against the bindings that kept them from casting. Hawke shuddered at the vacant look in their eyes and turned away to watch as the same Warden Chernoff from earlier strode forward and clasped forearms with Stroud.

"We will watch this rift for more demons while you go after the magister!"

Stroud only gave the man a curt nod in response, and then they all set off after Erimond and Clarel. More demons and enslaved mages blocked their way. The dragon circled overhead and descended on them occasionally. But they fought on, nonetheless, desperate to ensure the magister didn't escape this time.

Despite having fought with the elf and her companions before, Hawke couldn't help the slight awe and overwhelming nostalgia she felt at fighting among a group of such talented people. Her mind once again drifted back to those bittersweet memories of Kirkwall.

"Yeah, I feel it, too. Felt it from the beginning."

Varric's quiet voice beside her brought her back to the present in time to see the Inquisitor nearly take the full brunt of the dragon's breath. The elf threw up an ice wall to protect them all at the last moment, and only afterward did Hawke notice the strong barrier over them, no doubt courtesy of Solas.

"I see now why you wanted to stay," she replied in a subdued tone.

She risked a look down at him and found him smirking up at her. "Nothing could replace those days, Hawke. This is good, but it will never be the same. She'll never be _you_."

And somehow, even knowing Varric might be coddling her, she felt a heavy weight lift from her shoulders. Their group would never reunite - at least not in the same way - but they'd always have the memories. And if those early days had a gilded quality to them due to faded pain and the benefit of hindsight, she could at least take comfort in the fact that Varric held the memories in a similar reverence.

As they rushed up what seemed to be a final staircase in pursuit of Clarel, Hawke caught Varric's hand and squeezed. She dropped it before he could respond, but the look he gave her said it all.

They'd always have Kirkwall.

They spilled out of the stairway and onto a wide, crumbled bridge that ended abruptly in a drop into the chasm below. Clarel was well ahead of them, bearing down on a trapped Erimond.

"You!" Clarel shouted. "You've _destroyed_ the Grey Wardens!"

She hit Erimond with a breath-taking surge of electricity. His staff flew from him and he sprawled out on the edge of what looked to be a crumbled bridge to nowhere. Their group moved forward as they watched the scene unfold, and Varric spoke what Hawke was thinking.

"This is a bad idea. This half bridge leaves us open to that dragon with nowhere to run."

Hawke looked around, nodding. "Like big fish in a teeny, tiny barrel."

But the Inquisitor didn't hear. She was already too far ahead, and they couldn't leave her to face the enemy alone. Hawke sighed and shrugged at Varric.

"Nothing for it."

Varric grumbled something under his breath, and Hawke couldn't help the fond smile that curved her lips. She turned her attention back to the drama playing out in front of them.

"You did that to yourself, you stupid bitch," Erimond said with a weak laugh as he struggled to get up. "All I did was dangle a little power before your eyes, and you couldn't _wait_ to get your hands bloody!"

Clarel moved around Erimond and hit him with another bolt of electricity, throwing him back toward their group. He hit the ground in twitching mass, curled into himself and groaned pitifully. His teeth chattered with the electrical pulses even as he continued taunting Clarel.

"You could have served a new god."

Clarel walked back from the edge of the bridge to where he lay. "I will _never_ serve the Blight!"

Suddenly, Hawke gasped in horror, and a shout died on Varric's lips as the dragon swooped out of the darkened skies, landed on the bridge and snapped Clarel up. Before any of them could react, the dragon took off again, Clarel dangling from its rotting maw. Hawke groaned, her sword dropping from ready position, the tip clanging on the stone in a sound of exasperated defeat.

Just as Varric had predicted, the dragon flew up and over them to land between them and the exit. They had nowhere to go but toward Erimond... and toward the edge of the bridge.

"Shit!" Varric shouted.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Hawke agreed as she grasped his shoulder guard and began dragging him to the side of the bridge.

The dragon threw Clarel to the ground in front of them. Amazingly, the Warden-Commander was still alive, though the lower half of her body was mangled and broken. She began using her arms to crawl further away from the dragon, but it followed, stalking her and the rest of them as they scrambled as far away from the dragon as they dared. Hawke could hear Clarel muttering under her breath as she pulled her now useless legs along the stones.

"In war, victory... in peace, vigilance..."

As the dragon readied itself to pounce on them all, a powerful charge of electricity shot from Clarel's fist into the chest of the dragon hovering above her. The dragon, caught mid pounce, fell to the stones, its own momentum carrying it forward. Toward them.

Hawke jumped to the side, grabbing onto Varric as she slid into the walls of the bridge. Her armor crunched from the impact, a sharp pain rolling through her shoulder, but it was their only chance. In the midst of the chaos, she heard the Inquisitor echo their previous thoughts.

"Shiiiiiit!"

Any other time, Hawke would have laughed. But for the first time since her mother died, her sense of invincibility faltered. No matter how it played out, she felt in her bones that someone would die today. Maybe all of them.

As these dark thoughts flashed through her mind, the dragon slid past them, its weight cracking the ancient stones of the already crumbling bridge. Hawke held on to Varric tightly and closed her eyes against the inevitability as the dust and debris billowed around them. She kept her eyes closed even after the dragon passed by them, but Varric suddenly pulled away from her and stood up.

"Hawke, come on! _Get up!_ We've got to get off the edge of this bridge!"

She opened her eyes and looked around as Varric pulled her to standing. To her utter amazement, all of them had managed to avoid the dragon. However, Varric's words hit home as the far edges of the bridge began to crumble. Then the stone under her feet began to move.

Her feet surged forward, Varric tugging at her all the way, but she couldn't keep her eyes off the scene playing out before her. She looked back and watched the Inquisitor run to the edge of the bridge. A moment later, she produced a scrambling Stroud from where he'd apparently been dangling off the edge of the stone. Once Stroud cleared the edge, however, Hawke's self-preservation seemed to finally kick in, and she began running for her life. No looking back now.

As they ran, the stone rumbled and shifted under their feet, and a new sense of foreboding washed over Hawke. Then, she watched in horror as a large crack formed in front of them and the stone under them began to fall away from the bridge.

"No!" she screamed with equal parts terror and frustration. "Dammit, _no!_ "

They scrambled for a foothold, but the stone continued to fall. She thought of throwing Varric to safety, but she had nothing to push against. As the feeling of weightlessness surrounded them, Hawke felt a familiar hand slip into hers. She turned to her friend, her eyes brimming with tears. She had so much to say - that he'd been her rock for ten years, that she was honored to call him her best friend, that she missed him when they were separated, that she felt things for him she felt for no one else...

But there was no time to say it. Soon, they'd be broken at the bottom of the ravine.

Just as she pulled on Varric's hand to bring him closer, a green light engulfed them, and Varric's hand ripped from hers. She tried to cry out, to call for him, but the feeling of weightlessness fluctuated wildly, disorienting and distracting her. She felt as if she were being pulled in two directions at once, her body contorting and twisting uncomfortably. She lost all sense of up and down, or even right and left, and she finally gave up fighting against it in the same moment that everything suddenly righted itself.

Her vision cleared, and her feet touched down on something hard. She immediately reached for Varric, but he wasn't there. Somewhere nearby, Stroud's voice echoed her confusion.

"Where... where are we? Is... is this...?"

He didn't finish his question, a note of fear in his voice she'd never heard from the stoic warrior before. Hawke turned to find Stroud walking on a piece of the bridge that hung in mid air... but... She looked around her, confused by the sight of some of her companions standing in completely opposite directions from her. From her vantage point, Stroud was standing upside-down, but his feet were firmly planted on the stone, as were hers.

_Andraste's tits! This is just freaky. And Maker damn it all, where is Varric?_

Around her, other rocks and various formations hung in what seemed to be a greenish, overcast sky. Rocky crags and mountainous structures jutted from what must be the ground, though the strange angle sent her mind into a whirl. She closed her eyes, shook her head and tried to reorient herself, but when she opened her eyes, nothing had changed. And still no Varric.

"We were falling... and then..." she murmured. Shaking her head again, she put on a protective mask of bravado and smirked at the Inquisitor pulling herself up off the ground. "If this is the afterlife, the Chantry owes me an apology. This looks nothing like the Maker's bosom."

"No," Solas corrected, "This is the Fade. The Inquisitor opened a rift. We came through... and survived. I never thought I would ever find myself here physically... Look, the Black City. Almost close enough to touch."

Solas walked up and stood beside the Inquisitor as he spoke. Both were at a completely different angle than both herself and Stroud. Things were getting freakier by the second. The Inquisitor turned to the other elf.

"Um... yes... this is very exciting... but any advice you might have on what's going on here would be wonderful."

Solas nodded. "I wonder what spirit commands this place? I have never seen anywhere like it. Perhaps it's because we're here physically... instead of just dreaming?"

Hawke looked again at the sickly green cast of the sky and darkened crags around her and then turned to look up at the Inquisitor... or down... or sideways, maybe? "The stories say you walked out of the Fade at Haven. Was it like this?"

The Inquisitor shook her head. "I don't know. I still can't remember what happened the last time I did this."

Hawke nodded, a knot of panic rising up in her chest as she began looking around for Varric in earnest. "Well, whatever happened at Haven, we can't assume we're safe now. That demon was right on the other side of the rift Erimond was using, and there could be others."

Stroud seemed to track with Hawke and build off her thoughts. "In our world, the rift the demons came through was nearby. In the main hall. Can we escape the same way?"

The Inquisitor shrugged. "It beats waiting around for demons to find us, right?" She pointed to the swirling green ahead of them. "There it is."

Hawke nearly tumbled to the... ground?... in relief when she finally spotted Varric walking up to the Inquisitor. She carefully picked her way down the rock she was standing on until she came to the juncture between her rock and the ground in front of her face. She closed her eyes and held her head in her hands, trying to keep her brain from rebelling again. Then, she reached out to touch the ground... and the world shifted around her.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself lying on the ground on the same plane of existence as the Inquisitor. She stood up, brushed herself off and hurried over to place a firm hand on Varric's shoulder.

"Glad to see you made it in one piece, Champion," he murmured to her as they watched Stroud go through the same strange transition she'd just managed.

"Back at ya, friend."

Her voice cracked on the word friend, and without looking back at her, Varric covered her hand on his shoulder with his own. She bit her lip and only just managed to keep from throwing her arms around him. They'd escaped death yet again, at least so far. But how many near misses did they get before one of them ran out of luck? She shivered slightly, her mask slipping a little as she looked down at the top of Varric's head.

"Are we all ready?" the Inquisitor asked when Stroud joined them. "Then let's go!"

Solas and the Inquisitor moved ahead, and Varric and Hawke followed close behind. Stroud and Cassandra brought up the rear. As they sloshed through the shallow water, Hawke tried to reconcile the ghostly spirit world before her with the fact that she was still alive. Whole. Not dead.

And yet, they were still in the Maker-forsaken _Fade_. She'd planted her hand on Varric's shoulder as much to reassure herself as to comfort her friend - and to make sure Varric was, in fact, alive and well. As they walked through the pools of dark water and sharp rock formations, they heard Solas gushing.

"This is fascinating. It is not the area I would have chosen, of course. But to physically walk within the Fade..."

Varric rolled his eyes at Hawke before speaking up. "Right. You _like_ it here. Isn't that wonderful."

"Yes, literally," he sniped in response.

Ever the peacekeeper, the Inquisitor tried to redirect the conversation. "I don't suppose you would have any words of wisdom for this part of the Fade."

"Why would I voluntarily come to this part of the Fade?" Solas responded haughtily.

Hawke watched the Inquisitor move away from Solas slightly. The other elf seemed to notice as well, and his next words were measured to be appeasing.

"The demon that controls this area is extremely powerful. Some variety of fear I would guess. I suggest you remain wary of manipulation and prepare for what is sure to be a fascinating experience."

Hawke turned and whispered to Varric. "Is he fucking _serious_ right now?"

Varric gave her a wry chuckle and a wink. "Oh, yeah. Very."

"Freak," she muttered as she stepped past random items - beds, tables, candles that gave off light but no warmth, mirrors - that were placed against the rock walls surrounding them.

"Yep," Varric agreed in a placating tone. "But a useful freak, nonetheless."

Hawke raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She supposed Varric knew the bald elf better than she did. Still, his almost childlike glee at their plight left a sour taste in Hawke's mouth.

They soon came across hostile demons, and Hawke welcomed the reprieve from thinking about where they were and that they might not be able to _get out_. She sliced through shades and demons with gusto, focusing all her fear and anger on the enemies trying to stop them from leaving this place.

From that point on, there wasn't much to do _but_ fight. They moved forward, but the green rift in the sky before them never seemed to grow any closer. The discomforting realization that they only had one path forward - the rock walls jutted upwards in sheer cliff faces on either side - did nothing to calm her nerves. It was almost as if they were being _led_.

The longer they trekked onward, the more deflated - and creeped out - Hawke began to feel. Cassandra seemed to agree.

"This place makes my skin crawl," the other warrior woman muttered.

As they walked up yet another set of stairs, however, Cassandra's sudden gasp drew all their attention.

Stroud choked a little and whispered, "By the Maker, could that be...?"

Hawke swiveled toward where they were all looking and instantly planted her feet, ready for an attack. This had to be a trick. Hawke didn't trust it for a second.

 _No way_ was Divine Justinia actually standing in the Fade before them. No way in the Void.

"I greet you, Warden. And you, Champion," the replica of the Divine greeted in softly accented tones.

Cassandra moved forward, a look of disbelief and awe flooding her face. "Divine Justina? Most Holy?"

The Divine tilted her head. "Cassandra."

The Inquisitor didn't turn from where she stood staring at the figure of the Divine, but she addressed Cassandra behind her. "Cassandra, you knew the Divine. Is this really her?"

"I... I don't know. It is said that the souls of the dead pass through the Fade and sometimes linger, but... We know the spirits lie. Be wary, Inquisitor."

Stroud affirmed Cassandra's warning. "I fear the Divine is indeed dead. It is likely we face a spirit... or a demon."

Although she itched to cut down the figure where it stood, Hawke remained still as the others debated the truth of the apparition. To its credit, the spirit didn't argue with them. Instead, Hawke listened with growing dread as the figure of the Divine described the "Nightmare" demon that controlled this portion of the Fade - the same demon that had stolen the Inquisitor's memories of her first time in the Fade.

The figure of the Divine also revealed that this demon supposedly controlled the false calling that had led the Wardens to ruin, which made Stroud all the more eager to kill it. But most telling, the Divine described this demon as one that fed off all their fears - fears Corypheus had only heightened in his bid to destroy Thedas. No wonder this demon followed him. Corypheus left waves of fear in his wake, continually feeding the monstrosity.

Although she still didn't trust the apparition, Hawke reluctantly agreed that they should take its word into consideration. It was a spirit, but perhaps their purposes did align in this bid to rid the Fade of the Nightmare that fed off the fears of every living being.

"Every child's cry as the archdemon circles, every dwarf's whimper in the deep roads..." the Divine intoned, "...the Nightmare has fed well."

The Inquisitor looked as if she were trying to comprehend it all. "The big demon Erimond was trying to bring through?"

"Yes," the Divine responded.

"It's nearby?"

"Yes."

"Well... ... shit."

Hawke leaned toward Varric and whispered loudly, "Couldn't have said it better myself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little peek into Hawke's world! In case it wasn't apparent, in the Revelation world state:
> 
> \- Isabella betrayed and deserted Hawke to the Arishok.  
> \- Anders was Hawke's best friend outside of Varric, and him leaving her out of his plans was a deep and abiding betrayal for her.  
> \- Hawke and Merrill often clashed over blood magic.  
> \- Hawke has a good relationship with Bethany (who is a Warden) and Aveline.  
> \- Hawke and Fenris have a good relationship now, but they were very much a rivalmance at first due to Hawke's views on mages and her close friendship with Anders. She'd been having second thoughts about their relationship, but the fact that he stood by her when she sided with the mages in the Gallows assauged all her doubts about him.
> 
> On a personal note, for those who don't know, the past nine months have been an unbelievable time of change, upheaval and loss for me and my family. Now, on top of everything else, we are MOVING at the end of January to an entirely different state. I am NOT giving up on this fic nor on Part 2 of this series, but unfortunately things will continue to be sporadic into 2018. That said, THANK YOU to everyone who continues to stick with me on this ridiculously long, drawn-out journey. It's all for you. :)


	57. In which hope is lost and found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen fights all kinds of demons - both real ones and the ones inside his head.

After the Inquisitor left to find Clarel, Cullen organized a contingent to follow behind her and keep the path open in case she needed to retreat. He briefly, selfishly, thought of leading the troops himself but immediately buried the thought alongside all his other unnecessary, overprotective impulses.

His soldiers needed him here. They needed his direction and his presence. So, he tightened the strip of cloth around the gash in his leg and settled for sending Captain Rylen instead.

"Do whatever it takes to ensure her success," Cullen ordered. "Understand?"

Rylen's ice-blue eyes reflected grim determination as he gripped Cullen's forearm in a firm handshake. "Of course. You can count on me."

Cullen gritted his teeth. "You can't let the soldiers lose hope or squander any advantage... even if..." The words stuck to his mouth like glue, but he pushed them out anyway. "...even if the Inquisitor falls."

Rylen squeezed Cullen's arm. "It won't come to that... but if it does, I know what to do."

Cullen nodded and let the captain go. He'd done all he could for Evana. He would have to trust that she and her companions would do their part to remain safe.

They'd cleared the gates some time ago, and he'd placed a unit there, including Iron Bull, to hold the area. Wave after wave swept inside and headed off on their pre-determined routes based on the plans Leliana had obtained of the fortress. Dorian, Vivienne and Sera had each chosen a wave and followed along. Cullen had then sent Blackwall to the battlements with another contingent of soldiers to hold the area.

Now, as he led a large group further into the immense fortress, he marveled at the glut of demons and mages swarming the soldiers. The stones were slick with blood from both sides, but still their enemies poured from every crevice like vermin.

He had a moment's reprieve when they came across several groups of Warden warriors actually fighting against the demons. A handful of restrained mages lined the wall behind the warriors.

"Commander Cullen of the Inquisition," he barked out before any of his soldiers could engage with the Wardens. "I take it you have surrendered?"

"In a manner of speaking, ser. The Inquisitor told us to fall back, but we were attacked by our own mages when we allowed Inquisition soldiers to pass by unchallenged. We may have also given your people a few tips on ambushes waiting for them ahead. We've been fighting demons and mages ever since."

Despite a deep desire to cut them down for their stupidity, Cullen let them be. "Just keep the demons from getting past this point. You may attempt to restrain and save your mages if you wish. We have templars among us who can silence them for now... but I'm not sure how you'll break Corypheus' hold on them."

"Yes, ser. Thank you, ser," the man said before glancing worriedly at the line of shrieking, dead-eyed mages struggling against their bonds. "And neither are we."

Cullen pushed deeper into the fortress and eventually met up with another unit sweeping the area. As they moved together toward the main hall and courtyard at the center of the fortress, the screaming, shouting and clashing of armor and weapons grew more intense.

Suddenly, screams of a different kind cut through the din, and a dark, winged shadow loomed overhead before letting out an ear-splitting roar. Corypheus' archdemon swooped past them, and Cullen's lip curled up in a snarl of pure hatred. His shoulders tensed in readiness even as harrowing memories flashed through his mind.

_Haven burning. Soldiers screaming in pain and terror. Evana's final look in the Chantry. Evana nearly dead in his arms._

A putrid wind from the archdemon's wings whipped past them, causing them to choke. The dragon did not engage, however, and landed on a tower close to the main hall - the place he assumed Evana would be right now. Cullen sent up a brief plea to the Maker to protect her before shaking off the sense of dread creeping up his spine and turning to his troops.

"The archdemon is not our concern. We need to clear this fortress. The Inquisitor and her companions will deal with the Wardens and the dragon." Fear ate at his confidence, but he forced steel into his tone. "She has fought several dragons before and come out unscathed. She will triumph."

The soldiers seemed to perk up at this new information, their expressions reflecting their newly found resolve. Cullen took a last look at the massive beast still perched on the tower and then led them forward.

The soldiers fought with renewed vigor, but their enemy pushed back. Hard. Each step forward brought more demons, more magic, more chaos, more shrieking, more death and moans of pain. They waded through veritable pools of blood at choke points, the bodies piled high, and though Cullen kept his eyes forward, the sights and sounds churned in the depths of his mind, stirring up feelings he'd buried long ago.

_Not now, Maker, please, not now..._

He tried to shake off the burgeoning panic, but everywhere he turned, he could see it. Hear it. The narrow stairs, the imposing walls, the demonic laughter, the dead eyes, the mages in thrall, the desperate voices begging for mercy, for a swift death...

_Something whispered past the barrier. Cullen shuddered but did not give up his chant. He'd never been so glad of those hours spent memorizing the words of the Maker._

He cut through another demon and then pressed a fist to his forehead, fighting desperately against the sensation of drowning, suffocating, in the unwanted thoughts. He wasn't there. He was at Adamant.

A shade came at him, and he lashed out at it as his vision tunneled...

_The hiss of scraping claws over stone reached his ears. He recited the words louder, trying to drown out the evidence of his tormentor's attention. This demon had fixated on him in particular, and nothing he said or did seemed to dissuade it. So, he wove the chant into shield around his mind and his heart, praying the mages would kill him before the demon drove him to complete madness._

The air would not come. His chest constricted. The walls closed in on him, trapping him as he slashed wildly at the shade. Somehow, he managed to kill it. He backed away from the fighting, desperate to regain control. But instead the darkness claimed him...

_A voice,_ her _voice, whispered in his ear and then slithered inside, into his head, until he could barely distinguish his own thoughts from that insidious voice. His late-night fantasies of touching her, tasting her - thoughts indulged only under cover of darkness - became distorted replicas of themselves. Familiar and yet wrong, as if looking at a reflected picture of one's self, the images shifted subtly._

_Over and over again until his fantasies turned to nightmares. Until he could no longer knew what was real._

_He fought it. Minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. When he no longer had the strength to stand, he pushed aside the severed limbs and mutilated bodies of his friends while his stomach lurched and emptied time and again. Kneeling in the congealing, rotting gore, he shut out the shrieks of horror and agony echoing from the chambers above with the sound of his own hoarse voice. Repeating the chant. Over and over and over._

_Hungry. Thirsty. Afraid to sleep. Afraid to die. More afraid they'd let him_ live _..._

A blast of ice brought Cullen back to the present with a start. The suffocating darkness lifted and the Circle tower fell away to reveal a wide rampart stretching out before him. Vaguely, he recognized the tattered black rags and hovering body as a despair demon, but before he could fully shake off the heavy weight of his memories, the demon shot another blast of ice at him, this time freezing him in place. Helpless against the cold, he fixated on the shadowed and hideous maw screeching at him through a haze of ice and the long claw-like fingers grabbing for him.

A strange calm settled over him when the edge of the demon's claw sliced through his neck. Although a shallow cut, he could feel the heat of his own blood melting the thin sheen of frost coating his skin. The demon would rip his throat out, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He felt a deep sorrow at the thought of leaving Evana behind, her lovely face filling his vision as he braced for the end.

Suddenly, the despair demon let out a high-pitched shriek and blasted away from him on a cloud of ice. In the demon's place stood a wide-eyed soldier, his sword dripping with fresh blood. In the next moment, the demon's spell shattered, and Cullen fell forward on his hands and knees, his sword clattering from stiff fingers. A hand landed on Cullen's shoulder, and he jerked away before looking up to see the young soldier staring down at him, terror and determination radiating from the man in equal parts.

"Commander?"

"I'm alright," he croaked weakly as he wiped frozen fingers across the blood on his neck. "You worry about that demon."

"Yes, ser!"

The young soldier charged at the demon, leaving Cullen to pull himself up as quickly as his icy limbs would allow. He curled his gradually warming fingers around the hilt of his sword - around that strip of leather Evana had designed specially for him - and stumbled toward the fight. While the young soldier distracted the demon, Cullen approached from behind, his blood pumping faster and warmth flooding his limbs with every step.

He wasn't there. He was at Adamant fortress. He was the Commander of the Inquisition. And he would not fall to a demon. Not then, and certainly not now.

He sprinted the remaining distance and brought his sword down on the demon's neck, slicing its head clean off. As it melted into goo before them, Cullen leaned over, pressed his hands to thighs covered in cold, damp leather and took another moment to recover. Catching the young man's eye, he nodded in thanks. The soldier gave a nervous laugh and nodded back.

They quickly rejoined the others to help fight off a couple of rage demons and a few Warden archers. Then, the contingent moved forward again, sweeping back and forth through the inner areas, going in and out of rooms and rooting out more demons.

Flashbacks tried to claim him several more times as they fought through the glut of enemies in never-ending supply around every corner, but now he worked even harder to stay grounded. Another slip like that would get him killed, and he had too much to live for to give up so easily.

Thoughts of Evana led him back to scanning the skies. Cullen knew as long as the archdemon had circled the fortress, it meant the Inquisitor had evaded the dragon, but the beast seemed to have disappeared during the past few minutes.

Then he heard it. A mighty roar of a dragon... followed by the most gut-wrenching sound of stone collapsing Cullen had ever heard. The stones under their feet trembled with the force of it, and Cullen's heart plummeted to his stomach.

But demons barred their path, and he could not alter their plan of attack now. He had to stay the course, no matter how it tore him apart, no matter how the fear and panic clawed at the cage he'd place around them.

To his respective relief and mild annoyance, Dorian and Sera joined them along the way, and in another half an hour, they'd reached the main hall and courtyard where the remaining Warden warriors fought alongside Rylen's contingent. Demons spawned continually from a giant rift at the center of the hall, and the soldiers would cut them all down only to repeat the process with the next surge. Cullen grimaced at memories of their first few days fighting the rifts after the Conclave... before Evana had appeared to save them all.

Cullen circled the perimeter, keeping to the wall as he scanned the area for her, hoping and praying. Cole flashed in and out in stealth mode as he attacked a rage demon. Sera had already joined the fray. But Evana wasn't there.

_Maker, keep her safe... please..._ He couldn't lose her. Not after everything they'd been through. Cullen's carefully contained panic rattled its cage of frayed mental strength and began bleeding out through the weak spots.

"Commander!"

Rylen's sudden approach pulled Cullen from his spiraling thoughts. He shoved the clawing terror back and focused on his second in command.

"Where is the Inquisitor?" Cullen barked.

Good friend that he was, Rylen ignored the obvious tremor in Cullen's voice, shook his head and pointed up the stairs to the side. "The Inquisitor followed Clarel and Erimond that way... but we heard a terrible crash and haven't seen hide nor hair of her nor any of her companions since. I fear..."

Rylen froze mid-sentence as if suddenly remembering something. His eyes grew wide, and before Cullen could ask what the matter was, Rylen twisted violently and lashed out, his sword slicing through the empty space behind him.

Only his sword didn't pass through the emptiness. A harsh cry rent the air, and a dagger clattered to the stone as Rylen's sword cut deeply into the shoulder of a Venatori assassin. Cullen immediately sprang into action, dodging around Rylen to run the man through. When the assassin dropped to the ground, Rylen stood staring at the body for a long moment, his chest heaving and eyes wide.

"How?" Cullen asked incredulously, still a little breathless from the sudden shock. "How did you know he would be there? Did you hear him?"

"She warned me," he panted out in a tone just as dazed as Cullen's. "She told me..."

Rylen shook his whole body as if trying to wake himself from a dream. He turned to Cullen, his eyes still wide but a familiar wry grin on his lips.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. _I_ barely believe me." Rylen gazed down at the body for a moment more, shook his head and then continued on with his report. "Well, now we've cleared up that mess... The Wardens seem to have had enough of inciting mass chaos. Apparently, Clarel pulled her head out of her arse and charged them to assist us, so we've got this rift under control."

As he spoke, Rylen's eyes occasionally slid to the body at their feet before jerking up to meet Cullen's gaze once more. Cullen knew they didn't have time for it now, but he made a note to speak to Rylen about the incident later. Clearly there was more to the story than Rylen let on.

"The whole keep shuddered with the force of whatever happened up there," Rylen finished with a grimace. "Should I...?"

Cullen shook his head. "No. I will go. You stay here and manage that rift."

Rylen nodded, and without preamble, he strode to the rift as it pulsed with another round of demons. Cullen signaled to a few nearby soldiers and approached the stairs. If his unit had made it to the main hall, it meant the battle was nearly won. His troops knew what to do now. And no one would question the Commander being the one to concern himself with the whereabouts of the Warden-Commander and Magister Erimond. He would take this one moment to be selfish, if it could be called that. The creeping dread nearly stopped him cold, but he took a deep breath and led the small group up the stairs.

Sera stayed behind to help with the rift, but Dorian and Cole fell in step beside Cullen. Cole remained terrifyingly silent, and Cullen couldn't... _wouldn't_ ask. Cullen and Dorian shared a look of concern as they rounded the top of the stairs to see the magister Erimond, incapacitated but alive, on the edge of a crumbled stone bridge. A couple of brave men walked gingerly to the man and pulled him closer to the walls, away from the edge.

His veneer of calm wearing thin, Cullen was in no mood to be gentle. He picked up Erimond by his foppish collar and slapped him hard across the face to wake him.

Erimond startled, and Cullen immediately shouted, "Where is the Inquisitor?! What have you done with her?"

"Wha...? Where? Oh..." The magister let out a breathy chuckle as his eyes finally focused on Cullen. "If you're looking for your _precious_ Inquisitor, she went that way-" Erimond shakily raised his arm to point out into the expanse of nothing and then turned his finger down. "-along with _all_ of her companions. I do believe that was the Champion with her, was it not? Your false heroes seem to fall just as quickly as you can raise them up."

Cullen felt like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He unceremoniously dropped the magister, uncaring of the man's cry of pain, and crawled out to the edge of the stone as silent lips formed the same word over and over.

_No, no, no..._

Dorian's warning cut through the savage panic scrambling to escape Cullen's waning control, but he was already too far out. Luckily, the stone held firm beneath him. He leaned his head over the edge... and stared into the utter blackness of a yawning chasm.

Frustration pricked at his already strained nerves even as relief crept in along the edges of his panic. He couldn't have handled seeing her body broken open on the rocks below. Bile rose up in his throat just thinking about it.

Scrambling away from the precarious edge, he threw his back against the nearest wall and sat utterly still for a moment as the numbness of shock and denial slowly faded. A pain like nothing he'd ever felt took its place, building in his chest like a heavy weight crushing him from above. His breaths came harder and faster with each draw of air into his lungs. The pain seared his entire body, agonizing and breathtaking in its depth. As bad as Haven had been - the fear, the guilt, the not knowing - this... _Maker_ , this was ten thousand times worse.

He hadn't realized how much his love for her had grown. It hadn't occurred to him how much more it would hurt to know she loved him in return - to know the joy of having and holding someone as lovely and perfect for him as she - only to have her ripped away from him in a split second. All his rationalizations, all his justifications for pushing her away, for waiting, now seemed foolish. So incredibly foolish.

At least he'd finally told her. At least she'd died _knowing_ he loved her. As he would have to live knowing she'd loved him... all the while remembering the time he'd wasted on his own fears and hesitations instead of simply loving her with all he had when he'd had the chance.

He groaned pitifully and dropped his head into his hands. He vaguely recognized that he should be more in control, that his soldiers were standing nearby and watching, waiting for his next orders, waiting for him to rally them to the cause. But he couldn't face anyone. Not yet.

The initial wave of excruciating pain faded, and a stone settled inside his chest, cold and hard. No tears came. He felt hollow... empty.

She was... she was...

Gone. His light was gone.

"Maker... Evana..."

The words fell from his lips, but he didn't recognize the anguished voice that spoke them. Dorian, however, had crawled carefully along the stone wall and arrived at Cullen's side in time to hear them. The mage's voice, for once lacking in sarcasm and edged with desperation, cut into Cullen's mourning.

"What is it? What did you see?"

"Nothing," he whispered brokenly. Then in a firmer, louder tone, "It's too dark. I-"

An evil laugh cut him off. "Oh, don't worry. She's definitely _dead_. The archdemon saw to that."

Cullen felt another of rush of pain, but along with it came an anger so potent it took his breath away. Scowling, he jumped up and strode toward the magister, intent on physical harm.

Cole stepped in his path. Cullen skidded to a halt, his brain having trouble processing so many swings in emotion in such a short period. He stared at the spirit boy blankly until Cole began to speak.

"Gone from this world but not gone. _Sparks sear dragon flesh. Down, down over the edge with splitting, cracking stone. Too late. Then... green cracks and sputters, a tear in the veil but not an old one. New, bright, wide, built to save._ " Cole turned to look deeply into Cullen's eyes and shivered. "Gone from this world but not _gone_. She opened a rift, and they fell... fell into the Fade!"

Too ravaged and raw to be gentle, Cullen grabbed the boy by the collar, his breathing harsh and unrestrained. He rarely understood Cole's ramblings, but that last sentence was too clear to mean anything else. Tempering his wildly flaring hope, he gave Cole a little shake.

"You're sure? She's in the Fade? Right now?"

Cole nodded, eyes wide. "The anchor disappeared, brightness extinguished, but it didn't feel like dying. No. Not dying. More like... like going home."

Dorian let out a sigh of relief, accepting all this far faster than Cullen's brain could process it. He fed off Dorian's confidence, however, looking to Cole for answers as Dorian pressed the boy for information.

"Can you feel them now? Can you see if they are truly alive? If any of them are in pain?"

Cole shook his head sadly. "No. I can't feel them in the Fade. It's too far and I..." Cole shuddered. "I don't want to go back there."

Cullen finally let go of the boy and exhaled, his heart beating wildly at the ups and downs he'd just experienced. "No one is asking you to, Cole. You're safe here... well... as safe as you can be in a keep full of demons."

Cole nodded, and his eyes, though still wide with the weight of whatever he'd seen, now held a note of calmness they'd lacked earlier. The pain in Cullen's own chest ebbed into a shaky kind of elation. He felt slightly drunk on it. _Sure, she's physically walking through the Fade with her companions. Why not? She's already been there once and survived. No problem._

The boy hovered before finally asking in a small voice. "I helped?"

Cullen gripped the boy's shoulder and looked directly into his icy blue eyes. "Yes. You most certainly did. Thank you, Cole. Now, back to the rift with you. The soldiers need your help."

With a shy grin, Cole disappeared, leaving Cullen feeling far more charitable toward the boy than ever before. _She could be alive. Maker... please let her be alive, and bring her back to me._

With a suddenness that took his soldiers by surprise, Cullen strode forward and pointed at Erimond. "Take him down to the main gate and find a few templars to hold him. We can't have him using his magic to escape. The Inquisitor will judge him once she returns."

Erimond looked unsure for the first time. Cullen's confidence seemed to have shaken his own.

"You can't be serious!" he whined. "That boy has no idea what he's talking about! Even if it's true they fell into the Fade, they won't make it out. She'll die there. They're probably already dead! Do you hear me?!"

Cullen paid no attention to the magister and strode quickly back to the center hall with Dorian hard on his heels. The mage remained silent at first, but halfway back to the courtyard, he finally spoke.

"Cullen, I hate to agree with Venatori scum, but..." Dorian reached out and grabbed Cullen's arm, pulling him to a halt on a narrow stretch of the ramparts. "We don't know that they survived their fall into the Fade."

Cullen looked away from Dorian's serious gaze, for once glad of the darkness surrounding them. The moons shone down brightly, but even with the silvery light, details were muddy. Perhaps Dorian couldn't see the doubt and fear in his expression.

"I know," he admitted reluctantly, "but... at least it's something. It's more than I... than _we_ had before."

Dorian hummed in understanding. "You clearly have something in mind. A plan of action, perhaps, from our action-oriented Commander? What's going through that pretty golden head of yours?"

Cullen started down the path again and rolled his eyes as he looked over at the mage. His friend. _Their_ friend, who had worked so hard to make sure they found their way to each other.

"Think about it, Dorian. Rather than expend energy opening a new rift - if she can even do that on command... it might have been a reflexive action - I'd bet my life they're working their way toward-"

"-the closest open rift! Of course. Good thinking!"

Cullen raised an eyebrow and grinned at the mage. "I know."

Dorian narrowed his eyes. "What have I told you about getting _smug_ , Commander?"

Cullen didn't care. He was actually enjoying the banter and riding high on the knowledge that Evana could still be out there, albeit in the Fade, and _alive_.

The scene in the courtyard, however, brought reality crashing back down. They fought hard for the next hour, but every time it seemed as though they were making headway, another wave of demons spawned from the rift. The longer it took, the more his confidence eroded into doubt and worry. What if they'd died in the fall anyway? What if she couldn't make it out? What if the demons in the Fade had killed them all? What if...?

After another half hour of continual fighting, it became apparent that he was going to need to set up shifts. More groups arrived from doing their sweeps of the fortress, and he began organizing units that would take turns resting and fighting.

As even more contingents arrived, including Iron Bull, Vivienne and Blackwall, he sent them back out to begin the task of looking for injured survivors. He charged them with triaging the injured and getting them to the camp just over the hill from the fortress where the healers waited to begin their work.

Iron Bull clapped Cullen on the back. "Don't worry, Commander. The boss has a way of getting out of sticky situations. She'll be out of that rift in no time."

Cullen didn't know how to answer, so he just sent Bull a tight smile and a brusque nod. Bull nodded back and turned to leave, calling out to Blackwall as he went.

"You should stay here and fight for the honor of the Grey Wardens or something. I'm going to find some attractive injured people to carry back to the healers. Heh, heh, heh."

Cullen couldn't help laughing at Bull's absurdity, but he felt it prudent to add, "Bull, don't you dare pass over an injured person simply because you don't think they're _good looking_ enough."

Bull waggled an eyebrow at him. "Don't worry, Commander. My standards are low. For instance, you'd pass snuff for sure."

Cullen just shook his head. They were all tired, but he did appreciate the companions trying to keep up morale. Sera flipped around the back edges of the courtyard shooting arrows into demons and then merrily walked around during lulls to yank them back out of the piles of dead demon goop. Dorian kept up an occasional, sing-song-y "any time now" as they fought through wave after wave of demons.

But the men and women were frightened, and it was beginning to show. Their Herald had disappeared yet again, and this time the Champion and Warden Stroud had disappeared with her. Cullen did his best to not let his growing despair show through. She had made it into the Fade, but there was no guarantee she'd make it out.

Time crawled by a snail's pace. Cullen stared at the watery image of the Fade beyond the giant rift every chance he could and strained to see any hint of the Inquisitor or her party coming through. His previous confidence now in shreds, he prayed to the Maker as he cut through yet another round of wraiths and demons. Finally, during a reprieve, he briefly closed his eyes and willed his words to reach her as he uttered a haggard whisper into the glowing green light of the rift.

"Evana, where are you? Come back to me. I _need_ you."

Suddenly, as if in answer to his plea, Cassandra, Varric and Solas tumbled out of the rift all at once. Cullen felt his heart soar... then come crashing down again. Just like at Haven, she'd sent her companions to safety before herself.

Seconds passed, but no one else came through. Maker, the emotional ups and downs were going to send him to an early grave. _Where is Evana?_ Cullen rushed forward to catch hold of the exhausted Seeker and help her stand from where she'd fallen. His voice cracked as he repeated his thought aloud.

"Where is Evana?"

Cassandra looked up at him in a daze and then shook her head. "I do not know. She, Hawke and Stroud were directly behind us the last time I saw them. I would not have come through if I had thought..."

Varric and Solas looked back through the rift as if waiting. In the meantime, another round of demons spawned from the rift. The appearance of the Inquisitor's companions had sent a shock of energy through the exhausted troops, and they fought all the harder.

Cullen set his jaw and readied his sword to attack a nearby demon, trying to wrestle his emotions into some semblance of order. He believed Cassandra. Evana had been alive and well only moments ago. She was coming. Hawke and Stroud were still with her. She _had_ to be coming.

He could not contemplate otherwise. Not again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're also reading part 2 of the series (THTBLHL), I hope you enjoyed the Rylen cameos and that little crossover storyline snippet!
> 
> Chapter 21 will mostly be set during this and the next chapter of TROAT.


	58. In which the truth is disappointing as usual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evana makes a few unpleasant discoveries.

Evana braced her hands against her knees as a newly regained memory seared through her consciousness. The Nightmare had stolen the memories, and part of her wished she could just let it keep them.

She was a sham after all and the mark nothing but an accident - a result of her bumbling interference in a ritual Corypheus had begun, using the Divine as a sacrifice and the Grey Wardens as his stooges. She'd walked in and distracted Corypheus long enough for the Divine to knock the orb from his hand. Then, like an idiot, she'd picked up the elven orb. It had seared her with the mark that Corypheus had planned for himself. The rest, as they say, was history.

And she was nothing but an accident.

But the Divine had led them to those fragments of her first trip to the Fade hoping they would allow Evana to better understand her enemies, so she gritted her teeth and bore the shame. Unfortunately, as she relived the experience, everyone around her got to see inside her head as well. They all knew she was an accident, too.

_So that's pleasant._

To think, she'd almost come to believe in this shemlen Maker. As they moved forward, she found her hand reaching again and again to press against the coin under her armor. Creators take her... if she was this upset, how would Cullen feel to know his lover was a charlatan? And what must Cassandra think? The Seeker was terribly quiet, even as Varric and Hawke bantered back and forth about the nature of the thing presenting itself to them as the Divine.

They pressed on, fighting through waves of demons as the form of the Divine cleared as much of their path as possible. As they fought through another pit of demons and wraiths, the fear demon began speaking to them, taunting them. She cringed every time it spoke, only half paying attention to the spells she let fly from her fingers - all of them muscle memory with zero strategy - as she waited for her turn to be shamed by the demon's acerbic tongue.

She had so many fears to choose from... though perhaps her biggest had already been revealed. She was a fraud.

"Dirth ma, harellan," the demon's voice echoed around them. "Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din."

For a moment, Evana's heart stopped at the elven words, but as she struggled to translate what the demon said, Solas spit out a disgusted, "Banal nadas."

Although the demon's words had apparently been for Solas and not her, they left her uneasy - especially the part where it called Solas a trickster. The Nightmare, however, had already moved on. Cassandra was next, and again, by extension, Evana.

"Your Inquisitor is a fraud, Cassandra. Yet more evidence there is no Maker, and all that your faith has been for naught."

One of Cassandra's beautiful noises of disgust echoed through the Fade. "Die in the Void, demon."

Evana looked over to find Cassandra giving her an encouraging smile, and she gave the Seeker a bemused smile in return. How did Cassandra do it? Evana's own faith had been nascent, barely there at all. But perhaps Cassandra's faith was rooted in something else? If they... _when_ they made it out of here, Evana determined to ask Cassandra about it. If anyone could help make sense of all this, it was the Seeker.

Evana's head whipped toward Varric as the demon struck at her friend with the one thing that could hurt him most. His jaw set in determined indifference as the deep, creeping voice echoed off the rock walls around them.

"Once again, Hawke is in danger because of _you_ , Varric. You found the red lyrium. You brought her here..."

"Just keep talking, smiley," the dwarf spat out through clenched teeth.

Finally, Evana came across a final set of memories. As she collected them, the flash of running to the rift, of the Divine running close behind her, and then the Divine being ripped from her hand... No, not being ripped away as much as letting go so that Evana could escape. Evana shook off the memory and hesitantly approached what she now knew had to be a spirit.

"It was you. They thought it was Andraste sending me from the Fade, but it was the Divine behind me. And then you... she died."

The spirit hesitated a short time before responding with a simple, "Yes."

Stroud's voice was low and hesitant. "So this creature is simply a spirit."

Hawke, who hadn't quite gotten over the seeing the Grey Wardens holding the Divine up as a sacrifice for Corypheus, rolled her eyes at Stroud. "I think we all knew that was the case, Warden."

The spirit's face took on a sad countenance. "I'm sorry if I disappoint you."

Then they watched as the spirit shook off the physical form of the Divine and morphed into a glowing gold light. Evana buried her disappointment. It didn't matter.

"The only thing that's important right now is getting out of the Fade. Whatever you are, you've helped us so far."

Hawke was still miffed. "What we do know is that the mortal Divine perished at the temple thanks to the Grey Wardens."

Evana sighed as Stroud shot back. "As I said, the Grey Wardens responsible for that crime were under the control of Corypheus. We can discuss this further once we return to Adamant."

"Assuming that the Wardens and their demon army didn't destroy the Inquisition while we were gone."

"How dare you judge us? _You_ tore Kirkwall apart and started the mage rebellion!"

Hawke suddenly took two steps forward and almost shouted in Stroud's face. "To protect innocent mages, not madmen drunk on blood magic! Even without the influence of Corypheus, the Wardens go too far. They need to be checked."

Evana, still caught up in Hawke's jab about the Inquisition being destroyed while they were away, barely caught Solas' affirmation of Hawke's words.

"Agreed. The Wardens may once have served a greater good, but they are far too dangerous now."

Cassandra nodded, and Evana was forced to try to pay attention. Apparently, everyone was giving their opinions _now_... _here..._ as they stood in the _Fade_...

"The Wardens _are_ a risk. Send them away before they cause even more trouble."

Varric shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. There are a few good ones, but an awful lot of the Wardens I've known went crazy."

Evana finally had enough. The idea of all their soldiers... of Cullen... dead or dying somewhere in Adamant... It was too much. She sent evil stares at her companions and then pushed both Hawke and Stroud away from each other.

"By the will of the Creators! Will all of you _please_ shut up!" She backed away and pointed up to the rift. "We can argue _after_ we've escaped from the _giant fear demon_. Ok?"

They all had the decency to look chagrined, but it didn't last long. The screeches of the fear demon's minions reached their ears in the next moment, and Hawke's face turned from sheepish to "aww shit" in two seconds flat. Evana looked at Varric.

"Well, now I know where you got it from."

Varric gave her a grim chuckle as he pulled Bianca from her holster. The spirit, still using the Divine's voice, was their Captain Obvious of the moment.

"The Nightmare has found us."

Hawke and Stroud looked at each other, and an understanding seemed to pass between them.

"Form up!" Stroud shouted as her moved to Evana's side.

Hawke appeared at her other side. "I'm with you."

Evana raised a brow at them each in turn. "That's more like it."

They made short work of the "fearlings" as Solas called them. They looked like giant spiders to her, sending chills all through her, but she'd learned earlier that the other saw different things when they looked at the little demons. Cassandra saw moving piles of crawling maggots, for one.

"Come," Solas said as he placed his staff on his back. "Real or not, the Divine is the key to escaping the Fade."

They moved on, but it wasn't long before the Nightmare came after Stroud. "Warden Stroud, how must it feel to devote your whole life to the Wardens, only to watch them fall? Or worse, to know that you were responsible for their destruction? When the next Blight comes, will they curse your name?"

Stroud's response dripped with quiet with rage. "With the Maker's blessing, we will end this wretched beast."

And just like that, the voice turned on Hawke. "Do you think it mattered, Hawke? Do you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn’t even save your city. How could you expect to strike down a god? Fenris is going to die, just like your family, and everyone you ever cared about. Or wait... is it Varric you most care about? It matters not. He will die, too, and _you_ will have the pleasure of watching."

Evana looked to the Champion, sympathy in her eyes, but Hawke, mouth set in a grim line, kept her eyes ahead. After a moment of tense silence, she shook her head.

"That's going to grow tiresome quickly."

Evana's eyes sought out Varric, who in turn had his gaze fixed on Hawke. The look on his face - more vulnerable and devastated than anything she'd seen from him - tore at her heart.

The Nightmare continued, apparently addressing them all as they continued to fight through another round of fearlings. "Do you think you can fight me? I am your every fear come to life! I am the veiled hand of Corypheus himself. The demon army you fear? I command it. They are bound all through me!"

The form of the Divine gave a breathy laugh as she hovered just ahead of them "Ah, so if we banish you, we banish the demons? Thank you, every fear come to life."

The Nightmare roared in frustration, and Evana let out a hysterical little laugh. She held her nervousness and fear and anger all bound together inside. She could no longer separate one emotion from another. The entire ordeal wore her thin in ways she'd never experienced before, and she followed the glowing golden form of the Divine... or spirit... with a near mechanical step. The Fade seemed to go on forever. Her steps took her nowhere. At every turn, terrors and shades and wraiths hunted them. She tried to tell herself it was no different from any other day in the field, but in truth, it simply felt like a never-ending rift. One from which she feared she'd never escape.

They fought not one, but two Pride demons at once. Then the Divine led them to an open area, but they were ambushed. Evana felt her strength waning as a third Pride demon descended on them. It was, of course, the perfect time for the Nightmare to strike its blow against her. The thing she feared most...

"Dearest Inquisitor, you think all those people will still revere you - love you - once they know? You think _he_ will still love you? You are nothing but an upstart. You are, in fact, nothing at all. Nothing but an accident. He will throw you away, reject you. Just like Hanir. Just like your clan."

Cassandra let out a perfectly timed noise of disgust. " _Of course_ , he will still love her. He has been in love with her for ages. If you think this would change anything, you know nothing of our Commander."

Evana blushed at Cassandra's very specific rebuttal shouted loudly at the greenish-hued sky. The curious revelation that Cullen had been in love with her "for ages" held her attention, though. What did that mean? How did Cassandra know? Evana found herself fighting harder against the demons if only to give herself a chance to ask what Cassandra meant. The fight was over soon enough, but the Divine spirit urged them on. Evana added her questions to the list of things to talk about with Cassandra _when_ they escaped from the Fade.

Then, the strangest thing happened. The Nightmare spoke aloud to someone - but it was no one in their party.

"My little seer, where have you gone? I can still feel the echo of your delicious fear in the air. I will find you soon enough. There is nowhere for you to hide."

They all stared at each other in confusion. In front of them, the spirit paused, as if listening.

"It is faint as a stone's ripple in an angry ocean, but another presence lingers here." After another moment of silence, it floated forward at a quicker pace. "We must hurry."

They ran forward, eager to be done with the Fade. Rounding a corner, the rift finally came into view.

"The rift!" Hawke called to no one in particular. "We're almost there!"

Varric sighed. "Great one, Hawke. Why not just dare the Old Gods to try and stop you?"

Unfortunately, they emerged into a clearing to find that the Nightmare stood between them and the rift. Of course, it _would_ be in the form of a giant spider. And by giant, she meant monstrous.

"That thing is the size of a mountain," Cassandra commented matter-of-factly as her neck strained to see up to the top of the multi-legged, multi-eyed creature.

Hawke laughed, a harsh sound edged with malic. "Or at least a very large hill. Come on, Seeker. Don't tell me you're not up for a challenge? I can't _wait_ to sink my sword into that thing."

Eager to have it over with, Evana began moving forward. However, the glowing spirit pushed her back and floated forward instead. Her golden shape pulsed as she neared the demon, and the voice of the Divine drifted back to them even as the spirit moved forward.

"If you would, please tell Leliana, 'I am sorry. I failed you, too.'"

And with that, the spirit's glow intensified until they could no longer watch. An explosion pushed them all backwards, though none of them lost their footing, and the Nightmare let out a chilling shriek. The demon fell back, weakened, and Evana didn't even look back at her companions. She charged forward knowing full well they would be behind her.

The demon backed away, curling in on itself and disappearing into the mists. However, it was nice enough to leave behind an aspect of itself to block their path to the rift. The sight of the open rift beyond gave Evana a much-needed second wind. She could almost see Cullen beyond it... almost hear him call out to her.

Evana organized her team for a long fight as the aspect of the demon hopped from one location to another and struck at them with dizzying speed and force. The voice of the Nightmare sent out occasional taunts and jabs, but the disembodied voice had lost its hold on her. It had already revealed her deepest insecurities to her companions. She had nothing left to lose.

It took time - a gradual wearing down of the powerful demon - but finally, the demon fell under their collective power. They all stood around, panting and gaping at each other for a moment, before Evana gathered her wits.

"To the rift! NOW!"

It took her a moment to get her own exhausted body moving toward the rift, but Hawke and Stroud reached out to assist. The three of them were further from the rift than Solas, Cassandra and Varric. Relief coursed through her as she watched them run on toward it and disappear into the realm of the living. Soon she would be through as well.

A small part of her dreaded what she might find on the other side, but even still, Evana nearly cried when the nightmare demon crashed down between them and that glowing green rip in the Veil. She never thought she'd be so angry to be separated from a rift in her life.

"We need to clear a path," Stroud shouted.

Hawke nodded and turned to them both. "Go, then. I'll cover you!"

But Stroud shook head head. "No. You were right. The Grey Wardens caused this. A Warden must-"

Hawke cut him off. "A Warden must help them rebuild! That's _your_ job!" She turned to the Nightmare, her voice gritty and low. "Corypheus is mine."

Evana looked between the two of them with dawning comprehension. "What? No! We either die here together or we emerge from that rift victorious! I will leave no one behind!"

Both heroes shook their heads, and Hawke put a hand on Evana's shoulder even as the Nightmare demon took a menacing step toward them. "No. If we all take on that demon, we all die. Who will stand against Corypheus if you are not there to lead? Who will close the rifts? _You_ at the very least must survive. And then we'll need a strong Warden to rebuild. That's Stroud. I need to make up for my silly mistake of thinking I could kill a darkspawn magister. He got out of that prison in part because of my negligence. I must be allowed to remedy that."

Stroud was already shaking his head. "I am but one of many strong Wardens. Hawke, your own sister could easily lead and rebuild the Wardens here in Orlais. And sacrificing yourself in this way - it does nothing to strike at Corypheus himself. You have more work to do." Stroud turned to Evana, a resigned and yet determined look on his face. "Please, Inquisitor... I have known for many weeks what this encounter would bring. My death in this place was foretold. Just promise me that you will spread the word of how the Wardens were redeemed in the end."

Despite her initial confusion at his words, Evana's tears came on hard and fast as her exhaustion overtook her. She threw her arms around the Warden's neck and whispered hoarsely in his ear.

"Go then. May your Maker guide you, or if he does not, let Falon'din guide you to rest. If you somehow survive, there are many rifts still open. Find one, and come back to us!"

Stroud awkwardly embraced her in return then backed away to bow to her. "Inquisitor. It has been an honor."

With one last look at Hawke, Stroud rushed forward. "For the Wardens!"

While the Nightmare focused on the Warden slashing at it from below, Hawke and Evana ran forward to the rift. With a final look back, she dove through. A steely resolve flowed through her as she raised her hand to the rift and watched Stroud hack and dodge the Nightmare as long as the rift remained open.

Then, as the rift grew ever smaller, Evana noted with surprise that the Nightmare seemed to turn its attention away from Stroud. The screech of anger it emitted was the last thing she heard before she closed her hand into a fist and pulled at the connection. The rift snapped shut with a final, thunderous explosion of light.

The demons in the courtyard fell as the rift magic tore through them, and a cheer rose up through the troops gathered around. A great number of Inquisition soldiers lingered among the Warden warriors, her first indication that all had not fallen apart during her absence. She sent up a quick prayer of thanks and began scanning the crowd for a certain lion-hearted Commander.

Relief rolled through when their eyes locked across the courtyard. He immediately fell to one knee, breathing heavily and leaning on his sword. Concern replaced a measure of her relief at the strange look on his face, but just as she took a step toward him, a tired smile cut through his pained expression. He looked at her like a thirsty man looks at an oasis in the distance.

She tried to smile in return, but the memory of Stroud's sacrifice wouldn't allow it. At least she didn't have to face Varric with the news of a fallen Hawke. _Thank the gods for small favors amid this absolute shit show._

The Champion approached her now, gesturing to the Warden mages being released from their bonds on the other side of the courtyard. "She was right. Without the Nightmare to control them, the mages are free, and Corypheus loses his demon army. Though, as far as they're all concerned, the Inquisitor broke the spell with the blessing of the Maker."

Evana sighed and shook her head. _Damned lies._

"Once they understand what really happened..."

Hawke was already shaking her head. "They'll be terrified. I for one am tired of giving fear demons anything to feed on. Let them have their story."

Cullen approached her now and hovered close by. She could tell he wanted to touch her, to make sure she was really alive and well before him, but he hesitated with all the people around them. After all she'd been through, however, it was too much to stand on ceremony. She needed to touch him just as much as he did her. She stepped forward, reached out, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Commander. A report for me?"

His hand immediately came up to enclose her forearm in a death-grip, his eyes boring into hers. He nodded and tried to catch his breath, though she couldn't tell whether it was more from all the fighting or from an emotional response.

"Yes, Inquisitor," he finally said. "The archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared, but we've captured the Magister Erimond alive - I thought you'd want to deal with him yourself. As for the Wardens... those who weren't corrupted _did_ help us fight the demons... eventually."

They dropped their hands from each other as a Warden warrior joined them. The armored man bowed before her.

"We stand ready to help make up for Clarel's... tragic mistake. But where is Stroud?"

Evana and Hawke shared a tortured look, and Evana fought back the tears as she raised her voice so all in the main hall could hear her broken words. "Warden Stroud died striking a blow against a servant of the Blight. We will honor his sacrifice and remember how he exemplified the ideals of the Grey Wardens even as Corypheus and his servant tried to destroy you all from within."

The tears flowed freely down her cheeks now, and she felt Cullen's strong hand briefly take hers and squeeze before he stepped back. She took a deep breath and faced the Warden now in front of her. A flare of righteous anger joined her grief just looking at him.

"Now, to atone for your fatal mistake, you will stay here in Orlais and do whatever you can to help destroy Corypheus. Stroud died for the ideals of the Wardens. In war, victory. And we are still at war. Do _you_ believe the Wardens can still help?"

The armored Warden tilted his head. "I do, Your Worship."

Evana nodded. "You are still vulnerable to Corypheus, and possibly the Venatori, but there are plenty of demons that need killing."

Her sensitive elven ears twitched as she heard Solas let out an exasperated sigh and Cassandra grumble a response about giving them yet _another_ chance. Both were clearly displeased, but at this point, she didn't care. This was about ensuring a force remained in Orlais that could fight off a Blight. It was also about honoring a man who died for the sins of his order - sins he himself did not commit.

Evana looked to Hawke again. The Champion clearly felt the same way, but she drew herself up and rolled her shoulders back.

"While they do all the stabby stabbing of the demons, I'll inform the Wardens at their headquarters in Weisshaupt of all that's happened. Best they're not caught off guard." Hawke then made a funny little bow. "Good luck with your Inquisition, lady Herald. Try not to start an exalted march on anything, will you? I'll let you know when I've returned from Weisshaupt. Please don't hesitate to give me any other means to fight Corypheus. I need to finish this." As she began to back away, she saluted Evana, then stopped suddenly. "Oh, and take care of Varric for me. He'll get himself into trouble without me here to look after him."

Evana laughed half-heartedly at Varric's indignant harrumph coming from somewhere in the back of the courtyard. Hawke changed directions instantly and followed the noise. Evana knew the two friends would likely have a long talk before Hawke truly left for Weisshaupt.

She then turned to find Cullen, but he'd moved away from her during her interactions with the Warden warrior and Hawke. He was now speaking with Captain Rylen and a few lieutenants. She almost walked over to them, but Cassandra approached her instead. Evana took a breath and braced herself for a lecture. Instead, the Seeker merely wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her off the dias.

"Come, Inquisitor. You need a healer and rest."

Evana pulled away and shook her head. "No one else is going to get any rest tonight. Why should I?"

"Because you are injured, and your body is going to give out on you soon if you do not see a healer. Look here."

Evana was about to protest again until she followed the Seeker's finger to an apparent hole in the side of her armor. The white armor in that area was conspicuously covered in blood. Her blood. It could be mistaken for a demon's blood except for the fact that it was still flowing... out of her. Where had that come from, anyway? She still didn't feel...

"Ooooohhh... ooooo... why did you do that? I couldn't feel anything until you pointed it out!"

"Which means your body is already in shock. We must get to you a healer. Come now, please."

"Where is Solas? He can-"

"Solas disappeared right after you recruited the Grey Wardens. I didn't have an opportunity to stop him and explain. We'll have to go down to the healer tents outside the fortress unless we can find someone along the way."

Evana let the Seeker put an arm around her waist once again. She saw Cullen turn now and give her a concerned look, but he was still on the opposite side of the injury. He'd not seen it, yet, and really, she was fine. No need to worry him. She gritted her teeth through the sudden and intense pain and then smiled at him, waving him off. He nodded, looking at her for a moment longer before turning back to the soldiers hovering around him and waiting for instruction.

The further they backtracked through the fortress, however, the more apparent it became that this had been an absolute blood bath on both sides. She was sure some of the dead had already been removed, but even the remaining bodies and pools of blood lining the stone battlements galled her. Evana felt the bile rising in her throat as she considered each of these men and women had families, loved ones...

She suddenly broke away from the Seeker to vomit into a stack of hay near a battlement. Every heave caused unbelievable, shooting pain as the torn muscles in her side contracted and tore further. She was crying uncontrollably by the time the heaves subsided, and the sobs made things even worse. Cassandra actually looked quite worried now.

"Inquisitor! There is no time! I must carry you."

Without waiting for approval, Cassandra lifted Evana into her arms as if she were a child. In fact, Evana felt like one as the Seeker hurried through the crowds of people sorting through the bodies trying to find survivors. If she hadn't been so sleepy, she might have felt embarrassed by the whole thing.

Luckily, they didn't have to go all the way to the healer tents to find a healer. The Iron Bull paced through the entry area near the gates and triaged injuries as people came through. The most seriously injured remained at the gates with the most experienced healers, while the rest were sent to the tents over the hills. As soon as he spotted Cassandra, he began roaring out orders.

"You! Clear a spot there. Healers! To the Inquisitor. Now!"

The healers surrounded Evana almost before Cassandra put her down, but she was no longer in a position to care. Darkness encroached on the corners of her vision as the mages started their work, and before they'd even pulled off her armor, the darkness claimed her.

 

**

 

Evana woke to bright light and a warm hand rubbing circles into her clammy palm. She felt groggy and weak, but the pain in her side had subsided. Her mouth tasted of sour bile and felt like cotton. Cracking an eye open, she tried to adjust her eyes to the brightness of the small tent.

"Cullen? Where am I?"

"No such luck, darling. Your lover is out organizing people and such. You know, _commanding_. The thing he's oh-so-good at besides looking pretty. I'm afraid it's only me, your favorite smart-ass Tevinter mage. And you're in your own tent resting up. Have been for _days_ now."

Astonished, Evana tried to sit up. "Days?"

Dorian pushed her back down on the bedroll. He was sitting beside her on the ground, smirking.

"Steady on! I didn't expect you to take me so seriously. It's only been a few hours since you popped out of that rift like a painting come to life. Just relax. Here, have some water."

Evana drank the water down, swishing it around to get rid of the sour taste in her mouth, and handed the skin back to him. "More, please."

Dorian smirked at her. "Well, at least you haven't forgotten your manners with all that Fade walking."

She groaned and threw her arm over her eyes as she heard him refill the skin from a pitcher in the corner. "Don't remind me. It was... It was awful, Dorian."

The hand returned and gave hers a squeeze before placing the skin in her grasp. She brought the skin to her lips as Dorian consoled her... sort of.

"There, there. Don't think about it right now. Focus on healing. And whatever you do, don't get Solas started. I made that mistake before I found out you were injured." Dorian let out an overzealous sigh, but his voice perked up instantly as he continued on. "Thank you, by the way. Your not-really-but-could-have-been-life-threatening injury gave me the perfect excuse to leave him mid-sentence in order to tend to you. I've never been so glad to be called to a person's sick bed before."

Evana rolled her arm off her eyes and let it land on the bedroll above her head. She graced him with an eye-roll and a wry smile.

"You are _so_ selfless, Dorian. Whatever would I do without you?"

"That is a question I can't answer, my dear. I have no idea what it's like to be without me... though I imagine it's quite dreadful."

She gave a weak chuckle, and Dorian smiled briefly before his face turned serious. "But you should know, your Commander has been by the tent _at least_ ten times in the last four hours just to check in on you. I'm not sure if you're aware, but he's really quite smitten with you. If you're not truly interested, please do let him down easy and then send him my way? I felt quite overwhelmed with all his heroics and find myself falling in love. Why, his stamina alone... I'm sure he hasn't slept at all since the assault, but he's still out there making things happen."

Evana sighed and shook her head sadly. "Poor Bull. He never stood a chance, did he?"

Dorian scoffed. "Against the Commander? Not likely. Although the take-charge attitude Bull exhibited with the healers... and when he started triaging those injuries with such force and grace, muscles rippling as he moved around... that was quite exhilarating to watch." Dorian paused for a moment, tapping his chin with an inexplicably well-manicured finger. "On second thought, I take it back. You can keep your Commander."

"I certainly appreciate that, Dorian."

Cullen's deep voice was followed by his overwhelming presence in the tent. Evana rolled her arm back over her eyes to keep the sudden and unexpected tears from showing.

"Well, that's my cue to be elsewhere, I suppose."

Dorian's hand patted hers twice before leaving it cold. The shuffling stopped for a moment, and she heard Cullen's hushed voice utter a heartfelt thanks to Dorian. The mage, of course, brushed it off. But she knew Dorian was actually quite pleased with the thanks - and she was sure Cullen knew that as well.

Sucking in a tremulous breath, Evana tried to pull herself together, unsure of why she was even crying at all. Perhaps just exhaustion, both mental and physical, was to blame. She gritted her teeth, bit her lip and managed to hold back the tears as she heard him sit on the floor beside her. But just as she thought she'd composed herself, a bare, calloused hand slipped into hers, and his tentative voice split the relative silence of the tent.

"My love?"

That did her in. The tears flowed again, but this time, she was thankful the sobs didn't hurt nearly as much. Cullen's hand gripped hers as he whispered encouraging things to her, and she knew instinctively that he would have gathered her into his lap if he hadn't been afraid of aggravating her injury.

_Screw that._

She lifted her arm from her face and reached out to him. Instead of pulling her to him, however, she found herself suddenly surrounded by him as he joined her on the bedroll. He didn't hover over her, but she turned her face into his chest, thankful that he wasn't wearing his armor. His solid presence grounded her, and she gradually quieted.

"I would offer you a handkerchief," he murmured, "but I don't seem to have one with me."

She sniffed rather ungracefully and turned to pull at some of the used cloth strips in the corner. It was her blood on them after all. After even more ungracefully - and rather painfully - blowing her nose, Evana turned to her good side and faced him. Her hand immediately went to his scruffy face and traced the dark circles under his eyes with her thumb.

"Are you alright, my love?" he asked hesitantly.

Evana nodded and then asked a question of her own. "Is it true? Have you not slept?"

He gave her a wry smile as he gingerly rested a hand low on her hip. "Too much to do. Although Rylen has already organized sleep schedules for the troops so we can continue to work day and night. He ordered me to get a couple hours of rest a few minutes ago, cheeky captain that he is, but I wanted to see if you were awake. And here you are."

He paused and turned his head to kiss her palm. When he looked back at her, his eyes were serious.

"Why did you not tell me you were injured?"

"I honestly didn't know," she explained. "Cassandra had to point it out to me. It must have happened sometime during that last battle with the..."

Her voice trailed off as everything hit her all over again, and she had to hold back tears that threatened to overtake her once more. Her mark was an accident. She was a fake. And Stroud had likely died so she could _continue_ being a fake. Herald of Andraste? More like a bumbling idiot who needed to be saved by the Divine. Why had the Divine not let her die in the Fade instead? Surely that would have been better?

But the simple fact was, the Divine couldn't close rifts. Whether Evana had been destined for it or not, she alone bore the mark, and now she would bear this cruel turn of fate as well. She would likely die in the end, anyway.

"Evana?"

She shook her head, attempting to dislodge the painful memories. "I... don't know where to begin. And maybe it's just better if I write it all down in a report... Besides, aren't you supposed to be sleeping right now?"

Cullen scooted closer to her on the bed roll. "I would rather stay here with you."

She hummed her approval, but her tone was teasing. "What will your troops say?''

He turned his serious eyes on her again. "I have wasted far too much time worrying about appearances. I don't think it would be wise to flaunt our relationship, but behind closed doors - or tent flaps as the case may be - I will not be influenced by anything other than what the woman I love wants from me."

Her heart thrilled to hear him say the words aloud again, but his voice and face reflected such a mixture of pain and tenderness that she could only stare at him in concern for a few moments before replying slowly, "Are... are _you_ alright, 'ma lath?"

His gaze dropped to the bandages clearly visible under her tunic. Dorian had retrieved a clean one for her from somewhere so she was no longer completely covered in blood, but her breeches still reeked of her own blood as well as the gore of what felt like a thousand demons. When he looked back up, he only met her gaze a few moments before his eyes dropped closed, but she'd seen the unshed tears glistening in them.

"You disappeared. For a time, we didn't know..." His voice broke and descended into a ragged whisper. "I thought... I thought I'd... lost you."

His hand moved away from her hip to cover his face, even as her own hand remained gently cupped around his cheek. A few hot tears slid past his fingers to the bedroll below before he sucked in a deep breath and wiped down his face with his hand. It took a moment more before he removed his hand completely, and even then, he couldn't seem to meet her gaze. Sliding her hand around his neck, she tugged him toward her and pressed her lips lightly against his.

"And yet I'm still here," she whispered against his mouth.

The reminder of their first kiss on the battlements had the desired effect. He chuckled weakly and pressed a kiss of his own to her chapped lips.

"So you are."

She gingerly scooted back from him and patted the bedroll. "Lie on your back."

Finally meeting her eyes, he gave her a confused look but turned to lay back on the bedroll anyway. She then proceeded to gingerly remove her soiled pants.

"Um... what are you...?"

Evana smothered her laughter when she looked over to find him staring at her with wide eyes. She left off shimmying and patted his cheek.

"Just getting comfortable, 'ma lath. Don't get any ideas. The healers wouldn't like it."

He half rolled his eyes at her, but the flush of red across his cheeks gave him away even as he sat up to help her scoot the rest of the way out of the ruined pants. When he laid back down, she pressed herself against his side, stretched an arm out across his chest and rested her head in the crook of his arm.

"Shall we sleep? Cheeky Rylen's orders."

She felt the vibration of his laughter run through her entire body. "As you say, Inquisitor. I am but your humble servant. Although, it will be quite warm soon. You may want to reconsider."

"Will it bother you?"

"That is highly unlikely. I'm struggling to stay awake as it is."

"Then sleep, vhenan."

He raised his head to kiss her forehead and then laid back. One of his hands rested lightly against her lower back and the other covered her own hand where it lay on his chest.

Content for the first time in weeks, Evana's eyes dropped closed as she listened to his breathing fall into the even rhythm of sleep. Then, moments later, she followed him into blessed oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! *Crosses fingers and knocks on wood.* I think my own personal shit show has finally come to an end as well. What does that mean? Why, regular updates, of course! Get excited for another chapter from Cass' POV up next!
> 
> Chapter 21 of Part 2 of the Revelations series - [Truths Half Told Beget Lives Half Lived](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9047525/chapters/33453243) \- is mostly set during chapters 56-58.


	59. In which a Seeker keeps the faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra deals with the aftermath of the battle at Adamant Fortress, both physically and mentally, and the experience draws her closer to the woman who leads them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those reading both Part 1 and Part 2 of this series, this is a Rylen-heavy chapter, so enjoy! :)

Cassandra poked her head into the Inquisitor's tent and then quickly retreated. A faint blush spread across her cheeks, and for the first time since entering the Western Approach, the Seeker thanked the Maker for the excuse of a hot day.

She knew that Evana and Cullen were together - practically everyone in Thedas had at least heard the rumors by now - but they were typically quite reserved about it. This was the first time Cassandra had witnessed them in a private moment. Granted, they were mostly clothed and merely sleeping, but the intimacy of their embrace... Cassandra let out an involuntary sigh. And then blushed even hotter.

The sun had passed its zenith, and the full wrath of the Approach was now upon them. She wiped the sweat from her brow as she contemplated her next action. Rylen had sent her to find Cullen after the first soldier he sent had come back saying the Commander's tent was empty. She'd immediately thought of Evana, which turned out to be the right answer, but she didn't know what to do now.

_He would want me to wake him._

Taking a breath, she stood just outside the tent and called as quietly as she could. "Commander Cullen? Are you there?"

She heard a slight rustle and a sharp intake of breath. Then, the murmur of voices. Finally, the Commander replied in a gentle voice.

"I'll be right out."

After a little more shuffling and a bit more murmuring, a sweat-covered Commander appeared outside tent in his tunic and breeches.

"Rylen is waiting for you," she told him as they began walking. "How is the Inquisitor?"

"Tired, but doing well. The spirit healer is coming back later today to check on her. Are you heading back to Rylen?"

"Yes."

"Tell him I will join him in a few minutes. I must put on my armor." He broke off toward his tent but then stopped and turned back to her. "Have you slept?"

"I slept for a few hours after the Inquisitor was healed. I am not sure about the rest of the companions."

Cullen nodded. "Good. Find the others. Tell them to get some sleep if they haven't already."

"Of course, Commander."

They parted, and Cassandra headed to the main Inquisition tent that currently served as headquarters for the relief and cleanup efforts.

"Captain Rylen. The Commander is on his way."

Rylen dismissed the soldier reporting on the numbers of injured and approached her at the entrance of the tent.

"Where'd you find him?"

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "Where do you think?"

"Never thought I'd see the day," Rylen replied with a weary laugh. "He was always so strict and serious, especially before the Rebellion. The Knight-Captain I knew would'na been caught dead in his lover's tent."

Cassandra only tinged a little pink as she responded. "Sometimes, one must reorder priorities when one finds something - or someone - worthwhile."

"Don't misunderstand me, Seeker. It's done him a heap of good. Though I have to admit, when the Inquisitor disappeared, I worried over him."

"The spirit boy, Cole, told Cullen that we had fallen into the Fade. I imagine that assisted his morale to know she could still be alive."

"You're likely right about that," Rylen murmured as his gaze drifted away from her in thought. "That spirit seems to do mostly good, eh? I've seen him helping out in the healer tents today, fetching water and such... Maker, that's something I never thought I'd see in the flesh. A spirit who _isn't_ a demon... who actually _helps_. These are strange times. You say he knew you all had fallen into the Fade? I wonder..."

Rylen trailed off, his mind clearly working through some sort of puzzle. Suddenly, he turned sharp eyes back to her and peered at her as if trying to read her thoughts.

"The men and women are still wary, but they're coming around to think well of him."

Cassandra nodded, understanding the unasked question. "Indeed. I find myself appreciating Cole's abilities at times. I do not appreciate his rummaging around in my thoughts, however."

"Hmmm... yes. Right creepy, that is."

"That is an apt way to describe it."

"Thing is..."

Cassandra raised a brow at Rylen's hesitance. He caught the gesture and gave a self-deprecating shake of his head.

"Thing is, Seeker, I'm wondering if the boy could help me with a Fade problem, but every time I think I've seen him, he disappears into the ether."

"Ah. Yes. He has been... skittish since the battle. You would do better to consult Solas if you are interested in the Fade. He has a wealth of knowledge on the subject."

She tried and failed to keep the dry tone from her voice. Solas' unapologetic awe of the Fade still left her raw for reasons she would rather not examine at the moment.

"Solas? The Inquisitor's companion?"

"The same. I can let him know you wish to speak with him if you like."

Rylen hesitated a moment more but finally nodded. He offered no further information, however, and despite a growing curiosity, Cassandra refused pry into what seemed to be a personal matter. After a moment of silence, she bowed to the Captain.

"I must be off to speak with the Inquisitor's other companions. I will send Solas to you when I find him. Please let me know if I can assist you further."

"Thank you, Seeker. I imagine the Commander will set new tasks in motion once he's here."

Cassandra tilted her head. "I will stop by later, then."

Cassandra exited the tent and set out to find the other companions. While passing by the hastily constructed shelters for the wounded, she caught a glimpse of Cole flitting here and there. He didn't technically need sleep, so she quickly skirted around the area and looked in on Vivienne.

Madame de Fer had taken charge of the healer tents, much to the head healer's chagrin. The mage ordered everyone about with such efficiency, however, that the man simply grumbled under his breath and obeyed.

"Vivienne, have you slept?"

Vivienne slowly turned to face Cassandra. "Who can sleep at a time like this, my dear? Lives are hanging in the balance, and we must do everything we can to assist these poor soldiers. The Inquisitor will certainly have need of them later. Battle experience doesn't grow on trees, after all."

"That is true," Cassandra admitted. "But..."

"But nothing. I assure you I will not become a burden if that's what concerns you. I have no intention of collapsing to the ground like some wilting flower."

Nonplussed, Cassandra merely inclined her head in acceptance, and Vivienne turned back to direct another three healers who'd appeared at her elbow during their short conversation. Cassandra took a moment to admire the woman's seemingly effortless maneuvering of the dozens of healers and then moved on.

Dorian had stayed up to watch over the Inquisitor, so she wasn't surprised when a healer mage pointed her to a tent nestled under a shaded outcropping. She popped her head in to find Dorian sound asleep on one side and Varric on the other. She stifled a chuckle as Varric mumbled something about smuggling routes in his sleep.

Withdrawing from the tent, she took the path away from the Inquisition camp and toward the fortress. She found Iron Bull next, still working just inside the gates of Adamant.

"The Commander has ordered anyone who hasn't slept yet to take the next shift."

"Got a few hours around the same time you did, Seeker. I know my limits. I'm good until the evening shift."

Cassandra just nodded and moved into the fortress. She found Sera sleeping on a sheltered haystack on the battlements and took a moment to marvel at the awkward position in which the elf had sprawled over the hay. It gave Cassandra a neckache just looking at her.

Blackwall was sleeping among a pile of other Grey Wardens. The younger Wardens seemed to have taken to the older man during the brief fighting and surrounded him now like a beacon in the darkness. They had been misled for so many months now, it was not surprising that they looked to a Warden who had not fallen for Corypheus' tricks.

Cassandra finally found Solas sleeping in one of the lower dungeons. He had set wards, so she stepped carefully out of the room and headed back to the camp. She would deliver her message from Rylen when he awoke.

Returning to the main tent, she entered to find that Cullen had reappeared from his brief sleep shift. She waited for him to finish giving orders to a newly awoken group of soldiers and then approached as they filed out.

"The captain is taking a shift?"

"Yes. Rylen is good at hiding it, but he was nearly dead on his feet. Good man. I worry for him."

"Oh?" Cassandra's brows rose in surprise. "Why?"

Cullen hesitated. "I haven't spoken with him about it. I'll keep you informed, of course."

"When I spoke with him earlier, he seemed to have some sort of personal issue weighing on his mind. Something about the Fade?"

It was Cullen's turn to be surprised. "The Fade? Hmmm..."

"I suggested he speak with Solas."

Cullen nodded. "He _is_ the resident expert."

"And what about you? Are _you_ feeling... well?"

Cullen raised an eyebrow but seemed to take her concern in stride. "I am feeling as well as can be expected after such a battle."

"And you are refreshed after your rest?"

Cullen tinged pink, and his hand found the back of his neck. "I... uh... slept if that's what you mean."

"Commander."

"Yes?"

"I am not Dorian. I would not ask _you_ such things."

Cullen tinged even redder, turning his face away. "Ah... yes. Good. We should-"

"I would ask the Inquisitor," she deadpanned.

Cullen cleared his throat awkwardly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye and grumbling unhappily, "I see."

"I am joking, of course."

"Right."

"Shall I go assist the lieutenants in fortress?"

A relieved expression passed over the Commander's face. "That would be immensely helpful. Thank you, Cassandra."

She couldn't quite hide her smirk as she marched from the tent.

 

**

 

Cassandra spent the next few hours assisting with the removal of the dead to the designated area. The bodies were then taken to a nearby valley to be burned to ensure that no ghouls could rise from this tragedy. The survivors carrying out the grim duty carefully collected each soldier's Inquisition tags and personal effects, which would be delivered to their families once they returned to Skyhold.

Despite her years of fighting and her battle-hardened exterior, Cassandra wiped her eyes more than once when she came across soldiers she recognized. Including the Wardens, the dead numbered into the thousands, and though hundreds more had been pulled back from the brink of death by the accomplished healers - mage and otherwise - Cassandra couldn't help shaking her head in disgust at the havoc wrought by a group once sworn to protect all of Thedas.

A grunt of discontent escaped her lips as she recalled the Inquisitor's pardon of the Warden's evil deeds. Evana was far too forgiving. Or, more likely, she'd allowed Stroud's sacrifice to color her perception of the Wardens as a whole.

But as with their leader's decision to support the mages, Cassandra would follow. If the Inquisitor thought it necessary to maintain the Grey Wardens, Cassandra would fall in line, no matter how much it rankled.

A sudden groan jolted Cassandra from her thoughts and sent her pulse racing. She began frantically pushing through a nearby pile of bodies until she found an oddly supple form among all the death-stiffened ones. Pulling him out of the pile, she turned him over, and sure enough, he moved his head and then groaned again.

"Over here!" she called to the others. "This man is not dead!"

A nearby soldier rushed over, and together they carried the man back to the gates where Bull still worked to triage those coming in from the fortress. The healers, however, had been working for hours already. They were nearing their limits, especially the mages. The evening shift was only minutes away, but those were minutes this man didn't have.

"Move!" she bellowed as she rushed past the men to where she'd last seen Solas. She breathed a sigh of relief to find him still there.   
  
"Solas! The healers are tiring, and we need more assistance at the front gate. Will you come?"

Solas rose from his makeshift bed as if he hadn't just been in a dead sleep. "Of course."

He quickly disarmed the wards and followed her to the front gate. The man lay on the ground where she'd left him, groaning, but his breathing had become shallow. Solas leaned down to examine the man.

"Hmmmm... This one will take some effort. Please make sure I am undisturbed. I will need all my focus for this."

So Cassandra stood by redirecting people and other mages away from the area while Solas worked. After nearly ten minutes, Solas finally stood from the man, who was asleep and breathing normally.

"This man can be taken to the recovery tents. He should live, but he'll need additional care to ensure he doesn't fall ill from his weakened state."

Cassandra called a couple of soldiers over and directed them to place the man on a stretcher and carry him to the healer tents. Solas stood beside her as they watched the men go.

"You seem to have a keen interest in that soldier," he remarked. "Did you know him?"

"No. I found him alive among piles of dead, some of whom I spent hours training over the last few months. I suppose... I suppose being surrounded by so much death, I found that his one life meant all the more."

Solas nodded. "Yes. I see."

After another moment of silence, Cassandra took a deep breath and turned toward Solas. "I came to find you earlier but did not wish to disturb your sleep. Captain Rylen has questions regarding the Fade. It seemed... urgent. I suggested he speak to you."

"I am happy to provide any answers I can regarding the Fade, though even with my years of study, I have only scratched the surface. Do you know what type of questions he might have?"

"I do not. He seemed reluctant to speak freely."

Solas nodded. "I will seek him out, then. Thank you, Seeker."

Cassandra's walk back to her original position took longer than she'd thought it would. A new shift came on, and she worked through it. She was careful, though, to double check all the bodies she touched to make sure they were truly dead.

Unfortunately, she found no one else alive. The night shift came well after sundown, and Cassandra finally took the opportunity to sleep. She collapsed in the nearest tent and knew no more until the next morning.

 

**

 

The following day, the Inquisitor could not be convinced to remain in her tent. She did at least stay in the healer tents, tending to the sick and using her improving healing magic to take care of some injuries that had not been deemed essential enough for the first round of healing.

Cassandra found her at the end of the day nearly asleep at the side of the same young man the Seeker had picked out of the pile of dead yesterday. He was still unconscious, but he had been cleaned and now had a bit of color in his cheeks. It lifted Cassandra's spirits to see him.

"Inquisitor, a raven came from Skyhold a few moments ago. The Commander has requested you join us to review the message."

The Inquisitor awoke with a start. "Wha...? Oh, Cassandra. We need to review a message?"

"Yes, from Skyhold."

"Oh!" She gently withdrew her hand from the young man's and stood. "He was awake a few moments ago, but only for a brief time. He seemed afraid... something about being surrounded by the dead... then a dark-haired warrior shouting. I thought that might be you? I held his hand and told him he was safe. It seemed to calm him."

"Yes. I found him as I was helping with the dead yesterday."

Cassandra told the Inquisitor the young man's story as they walked. The elf smiled at the end and patted Cassandra's shoulder.

"Thank goodness you were there. Even one life lost in that way would be too many."

Cassandra was overcome with a strange sadness. She had not allowed herself many emotions during the last few days, but finally speaking with the Inquisitor brought back memories of their time in the Fade... and of a spirit in the form of the Most Holy.

"Inquisitor..." Cassandra looked around her and then lowered her voice. "Evana, if we have an opportunity in the coming days, I would like to speak with you about... about what happened in the Fade."

Evana's expression grew grim. "I had the same thought. I have some questions, and I think you might be the only one who could answer them to my satisfaction. I've been... uneasy since the events of the Fade."

The waver in Evana's voice concerned Cassandra, but she contented herself with a promise. "Then we will find a time to talk soon."

"I'd like that."

When they reached the main tent, Cullen turned to greet them. To her amazement, he took Evana's hand and kissed it. Evana blushed slightly, her gaze darting to Cassandra briefly before focusing on Cullen.

"How are you holding up, 'ma lath?"

"Tired, like everyone else. But I believe my sleep shift is coming up, and Rylen won't hear of me skipping it."

"And neither will I, vhenan."

Her tone was light, but her eyes glinted with a look of determination. Cullen bowed but looked up and smiled at Evana mid-way through.

"As you wish."

Feeling a bit like a third wheel, Cassandra cleared her throat. "I believe you said there is a message waiting from Skyhold?"

Cullen flushed slightly but didn't let go of Evana's hand as he reached for the parchment on the makeshift table in the middle of the tent. He handed the paper to the Inquisitor and addressed them both as he spoke.

"We seem to have a lot of Venatori movements to the north. The fall of Adamant and the ruination of their plans for a demon army have apparently set them on edge. After receiving a report of a massive Venatori encampment from one of her top agents, Leliana dispatched Scout Harding to the Hissing Wastes. She suggests heading there as soon as possible." He looked to Evana before adding, "After the Inquisitor is fully recovered, of course."

Evana looked up from the letter. "Me? Oh, I'm fine. We should go soon from the sound of it."

While Cullen gave Evana a disapproving look, Evana handed the letter to Cassandra. She focused on Leliana's words, but couldn't help overhearing the small argument going on between the Inquisitor and her Commander.

"Evana, don't be rash. You've been seriously injured. You need time to recuperate."

"Is that my Commander speaking, or my lover? Cullen, you of all people know I can't let this go. The Venatori will not give up just because we've won this battle."

Cullen sighed. "I'm not asking you to let it go. I'm asking you to delay a few days. Rest. The Venatori will not be _easier_ on you because you are injured."

"I'm fine. I-"

Evana paused as Cassandra thrust the letter back to Cullen. Cassandra felt no need to stand on ceremony. If they were going to hold hands and speak in such a way in front of her, she would give her opinion.

"I agree with the Commander. As all your companions are here, I suggest choosing your party and then traveling to Griffon Wing Keep tomorrow. There, you can recover in relative peace - more easily than in the constant commotion of this place. In a few days, when everyone is rested, you can depart to the Hissing Wastes."

"As always, a well-conceived plan." Evana then smiled as she delivered her small joke. "As punishment, I choose you as one of my companions."

Cassandra quirked a brow and shook her head. "It is never a punishment to serve with you, Inquisitor, as you well know."

Evana gave a small huff of amusement before returning to her previous solemn expression. At that moment, Rylen walked in, and Evana and Cullen immediately dropped hands. They all stood awkwardly as the silence stretched.

"Ah. Meeting I'm not invited to?" Rylen quipped good-naturedly.

Evana startled at his words but quickly recovered. "Oh. No, no. We were simply discussing me traveling to the Hissing Wastes to deal with Venatori amassing there."

Rylen blinked. "What? ... Right now? Pardon my saying so, Your Worship, but that seems a wee bit impetuous."

Rylen gave Cullen a wide-eyed look, and Cullen in turn raised an eyebrow at Evana. The elf just sighed and mumbled to herself.

"Hmmm... speaking as my Commander, then."

Cullen let out a little huff of air, but otherwise, all semblance of familiarity with Evana was now put aside with the appearance of the captain. Cassandra wasn't sure whether to be flattered or offended that they would behave so familiarly in front of her, especially considering that Cullen and Rylen were good friends. She quickly decided to be flattered that both of them trusted her enough to let down their guards with her.

"We have a plan, then?" she asked.

Evana nodded and hesitantly looked back to Cullen. "Yes. I'll... take a couple of days to rest at the keep and then head out."

Rylen looked back and forth between the two of them for another moment before settling his gaze on Cullen. "Yes, good. And now, _Commander_ , I believe your sleep shift has arrived."

Cassandra nodded. "And I believe the Inquisitor could use some rest as well. Commander, would you be so kind as to walk her to her tent?"

Evana and Cullen blushed yet again. Cullen cleared his throat.

"Of course. Inquisitor?"

Cullen lightly placed his hand on Evana's elbow and led her out of the tent. Cassandra and Rylen were left to themselves, and Rylen let out a little chuckle, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Well, then..."

Cassandra smiled but then gave Rylen a serious look. "I do not want her left alone if at all possible. Our time in the Fade was unpleasant to say the least. Add to that the staggering casualties we experienced... I know it still weighs on her heavily."

Rylen's expression immediately turned serious as well. "Ah. I see. I'll keep that in mind."

"Thank you, Captain. I appreciate that. And you will also keep our Commander's condition in mind while I am gone?"

Rylen looked away for a moment, then turned back to her, his lips pressed into a determined line, which reinforced the thick black lines inked down his chin. "Is it... worse?"

"In some ways, yes. In others, he has improved. The symptoms worsen when he pushes himself too hard and especially when the Inquisitor is away. Without her influence, he tends to dwell too much on the past, not to mention forget things such as sleep and food."

"I see. I'm to force him to sleep and eat, then?"

"You are his second in command. Watch him and encourage him to take care of himself. Not that he will listen. He rarely does to me."

Rylen finally cracked a small smile. "I'll do my best, Seeker."

Cassandra nodded. She was satisfied. The Commander would be in good hands.

"Did you speak with Solas?" she asked.

Rylen's eyes dropped for a moment. "Yes. He has offered his help... in searching for Stroud."

"Stroud?" Cassandra couldn't keep the surprise from her voice. "Did you know the Warden?"

"Aye. During my early years in the Starkhaven Circle, he occasionally stopped by to look for Warden recruits. Over time, we became good friends."

Cassandra hummed her understanding as she thought through her next words. "What makes you believe he might still be alive?"

Rylen shifted slightly, clearly uncomfortable. "It might seem far-fetched... but I know a seer. She predicted Stroud's death. But then..."

"A seer? In the Fade, the Nightmare demon spoke to a seer as if that person were there with us, but we never saw anyone."

Rylen wiped a hand over his face and turned his head away for a moment. "Yes, so Solas said. She was there in the way mages sometimes walk in the Fade while they sleep. And her actions saved Stroud from the death she'd foreseen, just as her warning saved me from certain death during the battle. But now..."

"Now, if he yet lives, he is stranded in the Fade."

Rylen turned to look at her, the exhaustion and worry he'd hidden now plain to see on his face. "Just so, Seeker. I have my duties here, and I'll not shirk them. But neither will I simply leave Stroud to his fate. Not when I have means to help him. Solas left yesterday to... do whatever it is he needs to do, and I'm providing support by way of a few trusted agents."

Cassandra gave a small bow. "I honor your dedication, Captain. If there is any way I can assist...?"

"I'll be sure to let you know, Seeker. Thank you."

"Of course."

Then, she walked out of the tent and got back to work.

 

**

 

The following day, Cassandra found herself on the road to the keep with Evana, Dorian, Cole, and a whole group of the least seriously wounded soldiers. Cassandra had slept little in the last few days, and from the looks of her other companions, none of them had fared any better.

The Inquisitor in particular had worked far too much for someone with an injury like hers. No matter how much the mages had healed, her body would need true rest to recover from so much blood loss.

Going was slow with so many wounded, but they finally reached the keep in a few hours' time. The sun was low in the sky as they rode through the gates. Stable hands took their horses, and a young man in a lieutenant's uniform met them in the entry.

"Inquisitor. Lieutenant Rossen. I was told to expect you. Your room has been prepared. I hope it's not an inconvenience for the rest of you to sleep in tents? We are still in the midst of rearranging rooms."

Dorian looked like he was about to groan out something entirely inappropriate when the Inquisitor cut him off. "All of us will be sleeping in my quarters. We will only need bedrolls and some blankets."

Cassandra furrowed her brow. "Inquisitor, is that wise? You need..."

" _We_ need to take up the least amount of space and resources possible while we're here. I spent the majority of my life sleeping in piles of bodies with my clan. I'm sure I can sleep through the various noises and movements of my companions... one of whom doesn't even need to sleep."

Cassandra grunted. That was true enough. And Evana wouldn't be alone that way.

"Very well," she allowed. "I think we should all rest as soon as possible."

"We'll need three bedrolls in my quarters," Evana said as she turned back to the lieutenant.

He nodded and saluted. "It will be done, Your Worship. In the meantime, we've also prepared a meal and baths, such as they are here in the Approach, if any of you would like to refresh yourselves."

"In the name of all that is holy, _thank you_!" Dorian burst out. He rested both hands on Rossen's shoulders, and Cassandra thought for a moment he might actually kiss the lieutenant. "Now, if you could somehow procure a bottle of wine..."

"Dorian!" Cassandra ground out through clenched teeth.

"What? I'm merely inquiring about a little refreshment from this fine young gentleman. A little wine never did anyone any harm."

The lieutenant seemed taken aback by Dorian's behavior. "I... I don't believe we have any, ser. Only ale." At Dorian's raised brow, he added, "But I can check."

Evana just laughed and saluted the lieutenant in return. "You do that. We'll be removing the dust, blood and gore from our bodies in the meantime."

Cassandra was a little uncomfortable bathing with Dorian at first. But when he truly seemed to have no interest in anything but closing his eyes and sinking into the tub of warm water with a sigh, she finally removed her clothing and got into the bath prepared for her. She stole a glance at Evana's side before the elf slipped into her tub and was relieved to find nothing but an angry red scar where the gaping hole had been. The spirit healer had done good work.

After several minutes of silence between the three of them - spirits like Cole had no use for baths, apparently - they all reluctantly began cleaning themselves in earnest. A soldier came in a few moments later with clean clothing and a promise to have their armor and clothing ready for them by tomorrow morning.

By the time they all reached the Inquisitor's quarters in the depths of the keep, they were exhausted. They ate the basic meal provided - rather delicious considering the remoteness of the keep. Then with surprisingly little prodding, Cassandra convinced Evana to actually sleep in the bed. Cassandra and Dorian each spread a fresh bedroll and linens on the floor, collapsed onto them, and promptly fell asleep.

When Cassandra woke again, she had no idea of the time, but a small noise caught her attention. Then, Cole's whisper cut through the darkness.

" _Can't get out... so lost. Why did she save me?_ "

She heard Evana mumble something incoherent and inhale in short, panicked gasps. Cassandra crawled over, reached out, and placed a hand on the elf's arm. Evana sat straight up with a breathless, "No!"

Dorian mumbled something but didn't fully wake. Cassandra reached out again, trying to find Evana's hand in the dark.

"Relax. You are safe. We are at the keep."

Cole's voice echoed her. "Yes. Safe, now."

Evana let out a giant huff of air and whispered into the darkness, "Creators. I'm so sorry for waking you, Cassandra."

"It is of no consequence. Are you well?"

"Yes... yes. Just a bad dream. I... I'll try to sleep again. We should talk tomorrow?"

"We should. For now, try to sleep."

She gave Evana's hand an awkward pat and then crawled back to her bedroll. She stilled her movements and waited to hear Evana lie back down. Cole sat on the bed with Evana now, and Cassandra heard the spirit boy whisper to the elf a few times. Eventually, her breathing evened out, and Cassandra finally allowed herself to relax.

The second time she woke, both her companions still slept, but now she could see a thin line of light under the door. In the dim light, she saw that Cole was no longer in the room. There was no way to know where he'd gone off to, but the keep harbored plenty of people in need of comfort - both the wounded and the grieving. She prayed he didn't make a nuisance of himself.

Putting on the thin shoes she'd been given the night before, Cassandra quietly opened the door and wandered out into the keep. Emerging from the lower level into the courtyard, she welcomed the warmth of the morning sun after the coolness of the inner room, but the day would become unbearably hot all too soon. Soldiers, a few she recognized from the early days of training in Haven, hustled around her to complete their daily tasks and prepare for the next wave of injured that would return from Adamant. The air buzzed with a strange mixture of excitement from the successful siege and solemnity over the many lives lost in the effort. Many soldiers openly mourned their comrades as news of the dead or seriously injured continued to trickle in. She could see in the passing faces that some wished to ask her about the siege, but none dared voice their questions. For that, she was grateful.

She climbed upward to an empty observation tower and looked down over the great expanse of sand and rock before her. The quiet of the morning, even with the muffled bustle of the keep below, weighed upon her.

Here, she was left to her own thoughts for the first time since the battle. Here, she was forced to confront the reality of their walk in the Fade.

They didn't have a Herald of Andraste. They had a person who had interrupted a dark ritual, accidentally acquired a mark meant for Corypheus, and survived a trip through the Fade because the Divine had sacrificed herself to ensure it.

The Divine had given her life to save their Inquisitor. Cassandra's heart gave a slow thump of grief, and she pressed a fist against the stone support beside her. Even a year later, the loss tore at her.

The Nightmare demon had recognized that flare of fear and grief inside Cassandra - the feelings she'd repressed while they'd worked to get the Inquisition off the ground. But in her heart of hearts, the death of the Divine had terrified her. Her first thought upon hearing the news hadn't been to rally the remaining forces. No, her first cogent thought had been to wonder how she would ever cope with the death of her mentor and, unbeknownst to anyone else, a woman who'd taken on the shape of a mother in Cassandra's heart.

She had been careful to hide it, of course, but Evana now knew - or at least thought she knew - that Cassandra doubted her. As with most things, the Nightmare had twisted Cassandra's fear of into something that called Evana's contributions and validity into question.

That would not stand. Even if Cassandra could not admit the root of her fear to anyone else, she would with Evana.

Cassandra tried to imagine what Evana must be feeling. The elf felt things deeply, but this... The fear demon had not brought up her fear of being a mistake for nothing. The demon had taunted them with their greatest fears. And the Herald's greatest fear had seemingly come true - a fear strangely similar to Cassandra's.

But faith was a choice, and Cassandra could not let doubt and fear guide her. Only they five knew of one another's weaknesses - only they who had walked in the Fade, who had experienced Evana's memories and heard the taunts of the demon. Cassandra grumbled a bit into the morning air that Varric had been there to hear her fear. However, considering what the Nightmare had said about him and, in turn, Hawke, Cassandra doubted the dwarf would be bringing up their walk in the Fade any time soon.

Hawke had agreed that sharing the Inquisitor's true origins would only bring panic and chaos. And yet, Cassandra could not bear the thought of burying the truth. Was this how legends were made? By concealing the mundane, horrible truth in favor of comforting lies? How many other great truths about the Maker and Andraste were merely fabrications in order to keep the peace?

Cassandra shook her head and growled in frustration. The tiny tower had little space, but she paced the small distance all the same. When the Inquisitor awoke, they must talk through this. At the very least, they must write down all they had seen for the Inquisition records. Perhaps they could delay the truth until peace had been restored and then gradually release the facts? Although that really depended on the next Divine.

She thought back to her conversation with Leliana just before they'd left for the Western Approach. Rumors had actually begun circulating in Val Royeaux that both she and Leliana - the right and left hands of the former Divine - were being considered. The two of them had always had a working relationship based on mutual trust and respect, but they varied wildly on political and religious thought.

Leliana as Divine would mean an entire overhaul of the Chantry... or perhaps a new start with something entirely different. Cassandra knew that things needed to change, but she didn't believe that the current systems were beyond reform. Circles could not be reinstated exactly as before, but they could be revised to be more open. The Chantry itself could be more accepting of others while still maintaining an appropriate respect for tradition...

Cassandra growled again. Thinking of such things did no one any good right now. They needed to come up with a plan for how they would address the reality of the Inquisitor's mark. She needed to know that the truth would not be buried forever - no matter how that truth flew in the face of her previous beliefs. The Divine's spirit had been right when it pointed out that actions could be guided by the Maker and Andraste without their actual presence.

Cassandra sighed and finally stopped pacing. She leaned against a pillar in shade of the observation tower's roof, crossing her arms over her chest. What could they say? Anything they officially said or wrote needed to be discussed with the full war council. Josephine and Leliana would need to give their input. Hawke had given hers, but the real burden of all this rested, once again, on the narrow shoulders of their Inquisitor. How much she already bore... how much more she would have to bear now...

A small voice from below caught her ear. Evana still sounded exhausted, but she did an excellent job of emulating her normal tone and poise as she spoke with and encouraged the soldiers around the keep.

Climbing down to the upper level of the keep, Cassandra approached Evana and Dorian. The two were tearing into heaping plates of fresh bread, fruit and scrambled eggs - the first hot meal they'd had in weeks.

"A bit of sparkling wine with a splash citrus juice would make this meal perfect," Dorian sighed.

Evana shook her head. "I don't know, I think it's pretty perfect as it is. This bread... it just melts in my mouth. Soft and fluffy and sweet. And the butter... Cassandra, you have to taste the butter. Thank the Creators I decided to send the keep a new cook! I'll have to find her later just to tell her how amazing she is."

Cassandra took the plate offered to her by Dorian and sat down. "Good morning all."

"Good morning, Cass. Did you sleep well? Sorry again for waking you."

Cassandra shook her head. "I was only awake briefly. I feel more rested today. Are you feeling better?"

Evana shrugged. "Still tired, of course, but I'm not sure if I'll ever feel rested again at this rate."

"Still, Adamant was a success. And you have yet another win in your bid against Corypheus."

Evana looked down at her feet. After a moment, she responded with a simple, "Yes. I suppose."

Cassandra's mouth formed a determined line. "We will find a place to talk after breakfast."

Evana did look up at that but merely nodded. They continued their breakfast in silence. Except for an approving hum with each bite of bread, Dorian was blessedly quiet as he ate. Finally, Evana stood as Cassandra cleared the last bit of eggs from her plate.

"Where were you before? We looked but couldn't find you. That might be a good spot to speak."

Cassandra motioned for the Inquisitor to follow, and they both clambered to the top of the tower. The increasing heat of the day made the climb more difficult than before, and they sat in the shadows on the floor of the tower, leaning against the parapets, to catch their breath. Neither of them spoke for a long moment, but finally, Evana broke the silence, her voice dripping with self-derision.

"How can you stand it? How can you follow me? How can you even be _around_ me? I'm an accident, not some herald sent by the Maker's bride. Cass, _I'm the reason your Divine is dead_."

Cassandra could not contain her surprise at the vehemence in Evana's voice. Even after hearing the Nightmare demon's taunts, Cassandra had not expected this to be the root of the Inquisitor's fears. In this, at least, she could set Evana's mind at ease.

" _Corypheus_ murdered the Divine, not you. Your disruption of the events allowed Divine Justinia to _choose_ death instead of having it thrust upon her. And I think she knew, even then, how important you would be. How important the mark would be. The spirit that took her form - perhaps even a piece of her essence - revealed as much."

"Yes, but..."

"Evana, I must tell you." Cassandra paused, her earlier resolve wavering a moment before she squared her shoulders as if to do battle. "What the Nightmare said about me... I do not truly believe you are a fraud. The people made a leap of faith with too little information, but that was what they needed at the time. My fear stems from... Ugh... it is difficult to put into words."

Evana gave her a small smile. "I doubt you're used to admitting your fears to people, hmmm?"

"It is not my first impulse, I grant you," she said with a return smile that felt more like a grimace. "What I mean to say is that the loss of the Divine left me with an empty place where she had once been. I feared then how I would cope with that loss. Perhaps I, too, _needed_ to believe you were a gift from Andraste, at least for a time."

"Why, Cassandra, that was almost poetic," Evana said with raised brows.

Cassandra's mouth twisted into a frown. "And now you are making fun of me."

Evana's face fell. "No. I didn't mean..." She put a hand over her face. "I'm sorry. I... appreciate what you said." She dropped her hand and flashed Cassandra a rueful smile. "You and I don't talk enough, I think."

Cassandra's face softened. "You are probably right." She let the moment linger before attempting to pick up the conversation. "What I am trying to say is that I do not blame you - not for the Divine's death nor for the loss of a title that you denied from the beginning. And neither will anyone else whose opinions actually matter. What did Cullen say?"

Evana looked away and didn't respond for a moment before replying quietly, "I didn't tell him."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow, but Evana wasn't looking. "Why not?" she asked.

"I told him I'd write it up in a report. I... haven't yet."

Cassandra sighed. "Neither have I."

"Because you don't want to tell anyone?"

Cassandra looked up into the shaded underside of the stone roof. She wanted to say the right thing, to help Evana regain the confidence she seemed to have lost somewhere in the Fade.

"As with pretty speeches, writing does not come naturally to me. I want to tell the truth. No more legends lost to the ages. And the truth is that the mark raised you from obscurity, but your talent, strength and wisdom are what truly brought us this far. Do you not see some higher power in that?"

Evana shook her head and exhaled forcefully. "I... I don't know what I believe. Before all this, I'd started to think perhaps... perhaps your Maker truly existed and had a hand in this. Now... I just don't know."

"If you take nothing else away from our conversation, let it be this. The things I said to you when we chose you as Inquisitor remain true. Do not doubt that it is _your_ leadership, _your_ actions, that inspire those around you to be and do more than we ever thought possible. I certainly do not. Even if _you_ do not believe the Maker guides you, I confess do not now believe you to be any less a product of the hand of the Maker than I did before, regardless of who gave you that mark and pushed you out of the Fade. Absolutely nothing has changed as far as I am concerned."

Evana stared at Cassandra, her mouth slightly agape. Finally, her jaw closed with a click, and she swallowed hard.

"You're serious?"

Cassandra held Evana's gaze. "Of course, I am. My faith is not based on a single moment but rather a lifetime of seeing how the Maker has lead people to constantly change and improve. We are built into better versions of ourselves through how we react to the fires of tribulation. I choose to believe your actions are blessed by the Maker, but that does not make your actions any less _yours_. You are being refined. You are being built into a champion for the weak and powerless. Through your influence and powerful magic, you are even changing the hearts of those who were once taught all magic is dangerous and must be repressed."

Cassandra sent her a little smile, and Evana blushed slightly. The heat of the day pressed down on them, but neither made a move to leave. After a moment, Evana spoke again.

"Thank you, Cass. I didn't realize how much I needed to hear you say that."

"It is all true. Do not doubt."

Evana's lips curled into a wry grin as her eyes turned toward the slice of cloudless blue sky between parapet and roof. "I'll do my best. I might need a pep talk now and then."

Cassandra echoed the wry smile. "You know where to find me."

"Indeed, I do."

Cassandra was surprised to feel Evana's hand grasp hers where it lay on the stone floor. The elf squeezed gently before letting go to draw up her knees and wrap her arms around them. They were silent for a moment before Evana's eyes turned toward Cassandra once more.

"Your earlier comment reminded me of something else I wanted to ask you. When the Nightmare taunted me... about... that is, you replied that Cullen... loved me?"

A flush of heat broke out on Cassandra's face. "Ah, yes. Well, I cannot say that the Commander has confided in me, but his... affection for you has long been apparent to the rest of us."

"But you said... you said he'd loved me for 'ages.' What did you mean?"

Cassandra laughed, glad for a reprieve from the seriousness of their earlier conversation. "We all knew he was partial to you, even before Haven fell, but after that, it was clear his feelings were more than a passing affection. I had never seen him like that before, and his friends echoed the sentiment. With you... it was clear months ago that he was lost."

"Months ago?"

"Oh, yes."

Cassandra sent Evana another little smile, and the elf blushed to the tips of her pointed ears. "He told me... here in the Keep... the night before we left for Adamant. He told me he loved me."

"Did he?" Cassandra grinned at that, her heart giving an excited flutter. But her smile faded a bit as she gave Evana a hard look. "And... you have considered the possible negative consequences for yourselves and for the Inquisition?"

Evana looked away again and nodded. "Yes. Leliana mentioned that. Cullen and I talked about it. We don't plan to flaunt anything. But... this isn't a fling for me, Cass."

Cassandra gave a curt nod. "Good."

"Do you really think so?"

"I have always known Cullen to be serious and professional. That is one reason I knew I could trust him to lead the Inquisition forces. He is good. He is faithful. He puts all he has into his work. However, what you two have... it has been good for him - _you_ have been good for him. I would not wish to deprive him of joy... or you, for that matter. I know little of your past, but you seem happier when you are with him. Amid all your responsibility, you deserve those moments of happiness."

"Thank you," Evana said quietly.

Cassandra nodded, and they sat in quiet contemplation for a few moments. Finally, she took a deep breath.

"We should write our reports on Adamant today. But before that - I have a favor to ask of you."

"Name it," Evana responded immediately.

Cassandra tilted her head in thanks. "In all our travels, I have not seen any of the Seekers among the Red Templars - nor anywhere else - since Val Royeaux. They seem to have vanished. I would like your help in finding out what has happened to them."

"I will write to Josie and Leliana to begin inquiries as soon as possible. They should have more information by the time we return to Skyhold."

"I am most grateful, Evana."

Evana inclined her head in return before slapping her palms to the stone floor. "Well, shall we get to writing? Oh, and speaking of writing, I should tell you - I think I've convinced Varric to start on the next installment of Swords and Shields - you know, the scandalous serial you want me to pretend I don't know you like?"

Cassandra blushed hotly. "It's literature. Smutty literature."

"Believe me," Evana said with a laugh, "I remember."

They shared another smile and climbed down the tower. Writing out all that happened at Adamant wouldn't be a matter of fifteen minutes around a campfire. They had walked physically in the Fade, met a spirit claiming to be the Divine and lost - at least temporarily - a valued member of the Grey Wardens. All of it needed to be recorded in the most detail possible. Cassandra still wasn't sure what she would say about the Divine, but perhaps the mystery would have to stand. She couldn't bear the thought of an untruth.

Somehow, she got the feeling this wouldn't be the last time she had to deal with such things. The Chantry was falling apart before her eyes. What else would be revealed in the following days? What would her search for her fellow Seekers bring?

Questions for another time. Now was the time to write it all down before she forgot. She sat down at a table next to Evana, and they got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 22 of Part 2 of the Revelations series - [Truths Half Told Beget Lives Half Lived](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9047525/chapters/33791751) \- is set during the beginning of chapter 59.


	60. In which the commander doles out serious conversations like they're going out of style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen tries to wrangle an army into order after the battle at Adamant and suffers the consequences.

The day after the Inquisitor left for the Hissing Wastes, Cullen arrived at Griffon Wing Keep along with Rylen and a large contingent of soldiers. In a bit of a daze, he vaguely noted the crowd waiting for them in the lower courtyard. As they dismounted, Cullen huffed out a little cough of surprised amusement as Rylen abruptly left his side, jogged toward a black-haired woman and proceeded to kiss her soundly as soon as he reached her. At the blatant show of affection, the crowd gave a round of cheers and cat-calls, though Rylen quickly got them in hand with a round of barked orders.

Cullen had yet to speak with Rylen in private, but he still remembered Rylen's strange behavior during the battle. That combined with this display over a woman Cullen didn't know and the strange gleam in Rylen's eye whenever Cullen showed the least amount of discomfort from the withdrawal strengthened his resolve to do so before he returned to Skyhold.

Cullen allowed a man to take the reins of his horse and lead it away, only remembering his saddlebags after the man had disappeared from view. Too tired to worry about it, Cullen stopped the nearest officer and instructed them to set up a meeting with all the other officers in the keep. They needed to discuss logistics of the mass removal from the Approach.

They gathered on the upper level and began discussing details. Cullen was in poor shape, but he wasn't about to let it show in front of his men. His body, however, had other plans. After a hard battle, days of sleep deprivation and a long, slow ride roasting in the sun, the blood running down his face during the final minutes of the afternoon meeting seemed an inevitable betrayal. The vaguely uncomfortable stares of his lieutenants alerted him to the problem, and he was forced to excuse himself and allow Rylen to finish up the meeting.

Nosebleeds were always a portent of a particularly severe episode, which wasn't surprising considering the last decent sleep he'd had was at Evana's side the night before she'd left Adamant Fortress. Since then, he'd dealt with increasingly disturbing nightmares, body tremors and shooting pains radiating from his chest to the tips of his hands and feet. The round-the-clock work shifts allowed him to get up and work whenever he couldn't sleep, which was both a blessing and a curse. Instead of trying to go back to sleep, he simply got up and started working again - despite the disapproving looks from his captain.

Now, it was all catching up to him. When Rylen finally found him, Cullen was leaning against a wall in an out-of-the-way alcove with a damp, blood-stained cloth covering the lower half of his face.

"Commander."

Cullen didn't look up but acknowledged Rylen's disapproving tone by echoing it back to him. "Captain."

" _Cullen._ "

The edge of warning in Rylen's voice grated on Cullen's last nerves, but he managed to keep his reply on the decent side of annoyed. "Rylen, I'm not in the mood. Give me your report and leave me be."

Rylen gave an almost imperceptible growl, but Maker be praised, he complied. "We are set for the time being. Lieutenant Rossen said the Inquisitor left some reports and a few other things for you in her office quarters... which happens to be on the lower level... where it's cool and dark even at midday. You might want to take a look at them. Maybe now-ish. Just thinking out loud here."

Cullen didn't want to admit that a cool, dark room sounded like heaven itself, but the pounding in his head and the glare of the sun against the white stone walls had become nearly unbearable. He gritted his teeth against a wave of pain before finally responding.

"I... will take a look at them."

"That's the first reasonable thing you've said since the Inquisitor left," Rylen snarked. "I'll inform the men you'll be reviewing reports and are not to be disturbed."

"That won't be-"

Cullen stopped as a fresh wave of blood soaked through the cloth and ran down his hand. He closed his eyes in defeat as he waited for the pain and blood to subside.

"This isn't normal," Cullen rasped, "in case you were wondering."

"Neither are these circumstances, friend."

Rylen's oddly gentle tone and accompanying platitude both soothed and grated. After a lengthy pause during which Cullen remained silent, Rylen offered a quiet farewell and left Cullen to make his way to the Inquisitor's quarters in his own time.

The captain's concern was palpable, but Cullen had weathered worse. Granted, the majority of those episodes had been in the confines of Skyhold, where he could hide himself away in his office until the symptoms lessened. Now, his struggles were on full display for his men, and he could see how it affected them. It was the only reason he'd agreed to supposedly review the reports now. He hoped to stave off the worst of the episode until they arrived in Skyhold.

_I shall endure._

When the worst of the bleeding seemed to be under control, Cullen pushed away from the wall. He still had a slight limp from the gash in his leg that had never been properly healed. The thought of walking back out into the afternoon heat made his stomach turn, but perhaps he _should_ take care of that now... if a healer were available. As if summoned, Solas confronted him in the darkened hallway just outside Evana's quarters.

"Commander."

Cullen tried to straighten his back, but found the action put too much strain on his muscles. He removed as much gruffness from his voice as possible and tilted his head to the elf.

"Solas. Can I help you?"

"On the contrary. The Inquisitor asked me to see to all your remaining ailments."

 _She... what? How would she even know?_ He felt a little swell of anger. If he were being honest with himself, he would admit it hurt his pride a bit. But the symptoms, the shame, the heat of the day, and now Solas, of all people, standing before him left little in the way of logical thinking.

"I apologize for wasting your time, then, Solas," he bit out between clenched teeth. "I'm fine."

Solas arched a brow as his gaze dropped to Cullen's blood-streaked chin. "You will allow me to verify? She asked for a full report."

The elf's voice was calm, collected... and unimpressed. Cullen felt an unwelcome jolt of fear and panic join the anger already coursing through him. It was one thing to allow Evana to heal him. Or even the healers in the full view of everyone in the tents. But here in a secluded hallway? With Solas? She clearly trusted the elf enough for such a thing, but that didn't mean _he_ did.

Normally, he had more than enough mental fortitude to deal with such things, but the exhaustion and mental strain of the past weeks drained his stores. Panic swelled in his chest. His voice cracked under the strain.

"Please, Solas. I can't. Not right now... Please."

The elf's serene expression broke for a split second to show... concern? "I will find you later, then, Commander."

This was too much. It was all too much. Emotion drained away, leaving Cullen hollow. His voice dropped to a mumble.

"Thank you."

Blindly, he pushed his way past Solas and into the blessedly cool darkness of her quarters. A single candle burned on her desk, and as much as he wished to roll out and collapse on one of the several bedrolls propped against the wall, he was drawn by the sight of a glass bottle and piece of parchment folded into a tent and bearing his title.

_Commander - read this first_

He picked up the parchment and flipped it open, willing his eyes settle long enough to read her letter.

_Emma lath,_

_I hope you are well after so much strife these past few days. I have left a headache draught for you, just in case-_

With confirmation of the bottle's contents, Cullen hurriedly picked up the bottle, ripped out the cork with his teeth, and took a swig. The familiar taste and feel of the draught calmed him as he continued to read.

_-and have also asked Solas to check in with you. I'm sorry. I know you'd prefer I hadn't, but I've taken the only other mage I'd trust with me (and, impudent man that he is for reading over my shoulder, Dorian says, "I'm sorry for it, too!"). Solas is highly skilled and will ensure you are as well as can be during your return trip to Skyhold. You can, of course, refuse him if you like. It's entirely up to you, vhenan._

_The other pages on the desk are the reports for the events at Adamant from Cassandra and me. You may wish to ask Solas and Varric to write up their experiences as well. Cassandra is eager to ensure the truth is known. Please take them to Skyhold when you go. I realize the council will need to meet and discuss this more once we all return._

_Vhenan, you may be unsettled by some of the things in this report. I am as well. However, although I am shaken, Cassandra and I have talked through many of the details. Her faith amazes me, Cullen. I can't imagine standing so firmly after... but I write too much. Just know that I have been and will continue to be in good company with Cassandra, Cole and Dorian by my side. We will clear out the Venatori presence in the Wastes and hope to return to the Keep in two weeks' time._

_I should also mention that I asked Solas, Bull, and Sera to remain at the keep until I return. I will take them to the temple in the Oasis with the shards to see what further magic it has to imbue before heading back to Skyhold. If the cold magic resistance was any indication, the fire resistance may have me sleeping in the snow outside of Skyhold for a few days after my return._

_I look forward to the day I can wrap my arms around you again. Be well. Ar lath ma, vhenan._

_Na vhenan,  
Evana_

By the time he finished her letter, Cullen was having trouble keeping his eyes open. The draught must've had calming herbs as well as headache relief. Or perhaps the easing of his headache had merely allowed him to feel his exhaustion.

He read the ending line two or three more times, a warmth blooming in his chest at her words of affection... her words of love. Laying the letter down with a small caress over her name, he began pulling off his armor. His eyes had mostly adjusted to the darkness, and he suddenly noticed a tub in the corner. _It couldn't be..._

Cullen picked up the candle and walked over to find a large tub of clean water as well as a bar of soap, towel and sleeping clothing... in his size. She must have set it up before she left.

He checked the water and found it to be room temperature. The cool water felt amazing on his fevered skin. Stripping quickly, he stepped into the tub and then submerged himself fully. The almost-but-not-quite-healed gash on his thigh screamed in protest, but he stayed under water until he ran out of breath and finally sat up to clean himself. This was not the type of bath a person lingered in, especially after scrubbing the weeks of dirt, grime and newly acquired blood and gore off his body. The water was positively filthy when he finally stepped out of the tub.

The draught continued to do its work, however, and by the time he dried himself and dressed in the simple linen pants and tunic left for him, he was too tired to spread out a bedroll. He collapsed into her bed and promptly passed out.

 

**

 

Cullen woke disoriented, the lingering disquiet of an almost-remembered nightmare swimming in his subconscious. The darkness of the room closed about him. Taking a deep breath to ground himself, he instantly recognized Evana's familiar, earthy scent. Was she nearby? He put out a hand to feel the linens beneath him and the cool wall next to the bed.

It took him a few more moments of vague panic to finally remember where he was. In Griffon Wing Keep. In the Inquisitor's quarters. He had no idea how long he'd been asleep, but the lone candle had burned out, leaving the room completely dark. The stillness of the keep, despite all the men and women filling it, meant it was late. Or perhaps early. So, he'd slept through the afternoon and into the night. His headache and body aches were faint echoes of their previous strength, but the gash in his leg ached sharply. He should find Solas.

Instead, he remained in the bed - her bed - and listened to the quiet emptiness of the room. And in the stillness, the lack of her pierced him. He ached for her presence, the touch of her lips, the feel of her strong body under his fingers.

_Maker, how can I miss her so much already?_

She'd only been away from him for three days, though it had been three weeks since he'd seen her before that. But this was the first time he'd been able to slow down enough to think of anything but Adamant. The events of the last few weeks had drowned out everything else - plan the seige, go to battle, hold the line, aid the Inquisitor, win the day, clean up the battlefield, take down the names of the dead to be mourned and honored later, organize the return trip. A thousand things to arrange and a thousand people to direct.

But here in the quiet darkness, surrounded by the scent of her, in the room where they'd confessed their love... _by the grace of the Maker, she_ loves _me..._ his thoughts overwhelmed him. He relived the shock followed by a surge of love and protectiveness as she'd whispered those words in elven - words he'd known instinctively meant something important - followed by the sweet sound of her confession in words he _could_ understand.

His chest ached. Leaving her alone in this room to tend to the last-minute details of the siege had been difficult, and even now, a part of him wished he'd spent that night worshipping her instead. The siege could have easily taken either one of them...

A shiver ran through him as he recalled those agonizing moments at Adamant. He thought he'd lost her. He turned and buried his face in her pillow, memorizing her faint scent, allowing the memory of her to chase away the final remnants of that living nightmare, before finally sitting up.

He had no time to dwell on any of that now. She'd left him reports to read, and it's what he'd come to her quarters to do. The challenge now was finding another candle in the darkness.

By memory, he felt his way to the desk, but the drawers held nothing that felt like candles. Afraid to rummage too much with bare hands, he moved to the door and found it just as dark outside as inside the room. The day's oppressive heat had given way to cool stillness with only a faint breeze teasing through the hallway. He heard the distant murmur of watch guards on the battlements, but otherwise, all was quiet.

The residual warmth of the stones seeped into his bare feet as he carefully made his way up the stairs and into the center of the keep. The stars and a single moon shone overhead as he padded toward the main area of the fort in search of a torch or candle he could confiscate. He made it to the top level before finding a tent lit from the inside. Rounding the corner, he saw the flaps were rolled open. He ducked his head to look inside and came face to face with Solas kneeling on a bedroll.

"Good evening... or rather, an early good morning, Commander. I trust you slept well?"

Cullen covered his discomfort as much as possible by clearing his throat gently. "Ah, Solas. Yes, thank you. I was looking for a candle. Mine burned out."

"You may have mine. I have no need of it anyway."

Solas flicked his fingers, and suddenly, his tent was filled with a dozen floating lights. Cullen reared back momentarily but then tentatively reached out a hand toward the nearest light. He stopped before touching it and swallowed hard.

"They are merely wisps," Solas said as he reached up and pushed a few of the floating lights around. They retained their shape and remained wherever he placed them. Cullen drew his hand back without touching them and gave Solas a tight smile.

"Uh... thank you. I appreciate the use of your candle."

Solas nodded and passed off the candle. Cullen was about to turn away when Solas spoke again.

"If you have a moment tomorrow, please find me. I would offer to simply review your health now, but I fear my mana is quite low after spending most of the night in the healer tents."

Cullen swallowed again. He finally nodded before turning to head back to his - or rather _her_ \- quarters.

Since she'd told him of her... _connection_ with Solas, he hadn't been able to look at the elf the same. As much as he wanted to get past it, the jealousy still wrapped a thin, constricting string around his heart. Solas himself wasn't to blame. Cullen knew that. But he couldn't seem to separate the man from the feeling, so he typically separated himself from the man when possible. He'd have to make an exception tomorrow, however.

Back in her quarters, he sat down at her desk and picked up the stack of parchment that contained Cassandra and Evana's detailed descriptions of the siege. Remembering her warning, he allowed himself a moment to collect himself. He didn't know what he'd find in the reports, but he could imagine - and the tone of her letter made him nervous. Finally, he took a deep breath and began reading.

The candle burned low and the thin line of dawn's light cut under the door before he finally placed the pages back on the desk. He sat quietly, trying to comprehend what he'd just read. The two accounts agreed on almost every detail, though Evana's contained far more description of the surroundings than Cassandra's straightforward chain of events. The Seeker's description of the spirit of the Divine, however, held more detail than anything he'd ever read from her. Cassandra clearly didn't know what to believe.

The basics were that Evana had encountered something in the form of the Divine, she had regained her memories of her first trip through the Fade that a demon had stolen from her, and her companions had somehow witnessed those memories as well. They'd faced a monstrous demon like nothing he'd ever seen or could imagine and lost Stroud to the Fade as a result.

She'd attempted a detached tone in the report, but Evana's word choices and the way she described things - he could sense she had been deeply affected. Her straightforward words didn't fool him.

_The mark was revealed to be acquired accidently after interrupting Corypheus' ritual. The Divine, not Andraste, sent me through the rift at the expense of her own life. I am not a herald._

He reached for her letter to him and read it again with new eyes. Suddenly, the nightmare she'd so quickly dismissed on their final night together seemed far more ominous. He felt his chest tighten with worry. He knew she typically downplayed her own problems in favor of helping others, but he'd been so exhausted, he hadn't thought to question her further.

The candle jumped, the flame guttering, as he slammed his fist on the desk. How could he have been so blind? She had been suffering - was likely _still_ suffering. And they'd barely talked.

He would make it up to her when they both returned to Skyhold. For now, he took comfort in her choice of companions. Cole and Dorian would be able to support her spirits, and Cassandra could commiserate with her about their shared experience in the Fade. It wasn't as good as holding her himself, but it would have to be enough for now.

In the meantime, he would be setting out for Skyhold tomorrow, along with several hundred soldiers. Rylen could easily manage the remaining tasks both here and at Adamant, and Cullen could no longer ignore the need to return to Skyhold. Lieutenant Rozellene had no doubt done an excellent job keeping up with the day-to-day, but he'd already deferred many requests and missions in favor of siege planning. It would take him a month or more to catch up on all the work that awaited him.

It didn't matter. Regardless of the workload, he would _make_ time for her when she returned. As much time as she needed. It was the least he could do.

A shuffling outside the door caught his attention and, after a brief moment, a small knock. If he hadn't already been awake, he doubted he'd have heard it. Likely, that was the point. Cullen walked to the door and opened it.

"Yes?"

A soldier with a tray of food in his hands and Cullen's saddlebags over his shoulder stood on the other side. "Captain asked me to deliver these to you."

Cullen backed away from the door. "Just set the tray on the desk."

"Yes, ser. Also, here are your things, ser."

"Thank you. I'll need more candles if your quartermaster can spare them."

The soldier saluted. "I'll speak with Muriel at once, ser."

Cullen quickly closed the door behind the man and pulled out essentials from his bag while shoving a chunk of hot buttered bread into his mouth. _Maker, that's good bread._ Setting the linen pants and tunic aside, he hurriedly dressed himself in clean smalls, leather breeches, one of his own tunics and his backup arming doublet all while eating the breakfast prepared for him. Considering how early he'd woken, today would be a long one, and he had no intention of starting without a full stomach. If a severe episode were on the horizon, his time at the keep might be his last opportunity to keep down any amount of food.

It helped that the food was some of the best he'd ever had. No wonder the new cook had so effectively improved morale here at the keep.

He tapped the papers on the desktop to line them up and then locked the reports in a drawer. Then, picking up his armor, he headed to the armory. He hadn't had an opportunity to clean and repair his armor before now, but the dirt, blood and gore couldn't be ignored any longer. The smith offered to clean and mend it for him, but he declined.

After the events of Adamant, he felt a strong urge to accomplish something with his hands before he got back to arranging major military movements from behind a desk. But more than that, the small tasks kept him grounded. Especially after Kinloch, the day-to-day, mundane tasks had been a major part of his recovery - after all, a dream wouldn't leave him to shine his armor for two hours straight. Even now, he insisted on participating in basic drills with his troops as much for his own sanity as for the morale of the soldiers.

It took nearly an hour of hammering out dents, scraping and scrubbing dried-on filth, and polishing the metal to a shine, but finally, his armor gleamed like it should. Only now, in the last few minutes after sunrise, had anyone besides the smith appeared in the armory. He put on the mended armor and went out to find Rylen.

The next few hours rushed by in a blur of action. The arrangements for supplies and moving the wounded must be made before they could start out tomorrow. In the back of his mind, however, he knew that he'd eventually need to find Solas. To refuse Solas' help would only worry Evana, and submitting to a basic inspection from the elf was a small price to pay for her comfort. He would not deny her that.

After a quick midday meal, he finally found a moment to stop in at the healer tents. Solas was in the back of the tent assisting with a soldier who had become ill. Cullen waited for Solas to silently acknowledge him and then left the tent to give the healers room to work. After a few moments, the healers seemed satisfied with the soldier's condition and moved on to check the next person, while Solas approached Cullen.

"Commander, are you ready?"

"Yes, I have a few moments if you're available."  
  
"I am. Follow me." Solas led him to a free cot in the corner of the healer tents. "Please, have a seat. This will be brief."

Cullen sat down and took a deep breath, steeling himself against what lay ahead. Solas raised his hands, and Cullen gripped the sides of the cot to keep from bolting. _He's only reviewing my health. There is nothing to worry about. Evana trusts him... his magic is not a danger to me._

As Cullen repeated the calming words in his head, Solas moved his hands slowly downward, checking Cullen's arms and sides, back and chest. Cullen felt nothing and gradually relaxed the tiniest bit. However, when Solas moved to check Cullen's legs, he stopped with a disapproving sound at the location of the half-healed gash. Cullen tensed up once more.

"This injury was not healed fully or properly, Commander."

"It was enough to get me through without bleeding to death. That's all I needed at the time. The healers' talents and mana were better spent elsewhere, tending to the truly injured."

Solas raised an eyebrow. "The injured are now well-tended. There is time to heal it if you will allow it."

Cullen gritted his teeth, willing his breathing to remain normal as he worked to control a flare of panic. Finally, he gave Solas a curt nod, and the mage immediately hovered a hand over the injury. Solas remained still, so Cullen kept himself still as a stone as well. He couldn't bring himself to close his eyes, so he focused on the greenish light emanating from the elf's hand. Gradually, he felt his muscles relax as the healing continued. Solas hummed a few times as he concentrated, and Cullen tried not to tense again even as he wondered what had displeased the elf. Finally, Solas pulled his hand away.

"The injury is now fully healed. I also found an old injury in close proximity that had also healed improperly. I took the liberty of rearranging the muscles to the proper placement. I numbed the area so you would not feel pain, but the feeling should return momentarily."

Cullen just stared at Solas for a moment before stuttering out, "O-of course. I... I mean, that's fine."

"I will continue my review now."

Solas raised his hands again while Cullen's mind flooded with unwelcome but unavoidable memories. He knew exactly which injury Solas had found. He'd sustained it during the initial round of fighting at the Ferelden Circle. That gash had kept most of the demons at bay - they'd all assumed he would die too soon to be any fun for them. All but the desire demon. It had tortured him from the beginning, eventually healing and then reopening the injury many times to see if pain would break him since tempting him with the form of Neria Surana had not.

Cullen gripped the cot even tighter and clenched his jaw, fighting against the memories threatening to consume him as they had at Adamant. That part of his life was over. He wouldn't be crippled by those old fears any longer. He _wouldn't_.

Taking slow breaths, he focused on the present. Solas. The cot. The injured soldiers. The tents. The sand and the stone. The lack of pain in a place he'd become accustomed to feeling pain.

He'd always felt a twinge in that area, an ache that plagued him after long bouts of training or particularly bad nightmares. Now, he might not feel it anymore, and he didn't know quite what to do with that. Every day it seemed another reminder of his past was overcome or simply erased. Every good thing he'd done in helping rebuild Kirkwall and now assisting the Inquisition... he could replace those old memories with new ones of the good he was doing.

Not that he could undo the bad choices or the deadly consequences. But he could choose to do better. Evana had helped him see that. She liked him... she _loved_ him for who he was _now_. Even knowing his past, she still chose him. Over all others... even Solas.

The elf wasn't really competition, though Cullen secretly wondered if that was because Solas hadn't made any real attempt to win her. If Solas really fought for her, would Evana have still chosen the broken ex-templar over the elven mage? Solas had already made a small inroad into Evana's heart. If he thought he had a chance with her, how much harder would the mage fight to win her? Cullen didn't flatter himself that Solas would have second thoughts about taking her from him.

Cullen nearly growled aloud at his destructive thoughts even as he thanked the Maker that Cole wasn't around to spout his insecurities to the world. _Enough! She has pledged her love to you. Forget Solas. Trust her._

"Considering your injury and lack of sleep," Solas said as he dropped his hands and moved back, "you are doing well. However, you are in danger of succumbing to fatigue, and my recommendation is to not tax yourself more than necessary in the next few days."

"You will write as much to E- the Inquisitor, I assume."

"Do you think she will be surprised at my assessment?" Solas asked.

Cullen gave a dry laugh. "No."

"Thank you for your time, Commander. I will send my report to her immediately. Do you require anything else from me?"

Cullen shook his head, murmured a faint "no" and turned, about to take his leave, when he suddenly recalled Evana's suggestion to have Solas and Varric write down their experiences in the Fade. He twisted and turned his head to look at Solas.

"On second thought... I'm taking our reports on the siege back to Skyhold. Would you be willing to write down your account of the battle, including your time in the Fade? Any additional information you have on the hows and whys of what happened will likely be helpful as we move forward."

Solas bowed. "Of course, Commander. I will have a report for you this evening."

"Thank you, Solas."

And that just left Varric. Cullen's own report would be brief, and he could write it when he got back. No need to elaborate on the minute details of the battle, nor on the brief moments his whole world had come crashing down with a dragon and an old stone bridge. _No. No need to mention any of that._

Cullen passed by the stairs to the lower levels of the keep on his way to see Varric, and his thoughts turned in a different direction. Erimond was currently being held in Adamant's dungeon, where they'd shoved him while they organized the return trip. With Evana distracting the Venatori to the north, now was the perfect time to transport Erimond across Orlais. Cullen would ensure the magister made it to the dungeons of Skyhold to await the judgment of the Inquisitor, but a part of him simply wished they could execute him here and now. So many lives lost... and the magister still showed no remorse. Cullen would rest easier knowing Erimond had been dealt with according to his many crimes.

The heat of the afternoon radiated off the stones as he emerged into the open air of the top level. A few clever soldiers had thought to stretch swaths of canvas between several of the watchtowers, which kept the area far cooler than it would have been otherwise. Rows of weapons lined the south wall of the large space and sleeping tents overspread every other available spot. Cullen wound through the rows of canvas tents to where he'd last seen Varric. Sure enough, he found the dwarf lounging on a bedroll underneath an expanse of fabric, quill and parchment in hand.

"Hey there, Curly."

"It's cooler in the lower levels, you know."

"Yeah, I know, but then I'd have to use a candle, and that just seems counterproductive. Also, strange considering all this sunlight out here. Despite my swarthiness, I don't really mind the heat. Speaking of which, you feeling better today?"

Cullen bit back a sigh. "Yes, thank you, Varric. I've come to ask a favor."

"Shoot."

"The Inquisitor suggested I obtain a report from all those who entered the Fade. I was wondering if you'd mind-"

"Way ahead of you." Varric reached behind him and rifled through a few pages before handing him a stack. "This is the best I can do without prettying it up too much."

"I... thank you, Varric."

Varric inclined his head and then smirked. "You realize no one is going to believe any of this, right? It's too crazy. _I_ can't even make this shit up. My editor would tell me it's too unbelievable."

Cullen shrugged. "What people choose to believe is not my concern. We will present them with the truth - eventually - and the people can do with it what they will. I suppose much of that will be determined by the next Divine."

Varric chuckled. "Yeah, and you've heard who they want to tap for that position, right?"

Cullen furrowed his brow. He'd heard some faint rumors that the clerics had a few women in mind, but he'd been far too busy to really keep track.

"I don't think I-"

"The Seeker, for one," Varric interrupted with a grin that looked more like grimace. "Our spymaster, for another. The former right and left hands of the Divine. Also, two key members of the powerful new Inquisition. It only makes sense. They found they can't beat us, so now they want to join us - or rather, want us to join them. You couldn't ask for two more different people, though. I'm not surprised the clerics would hone in on the Seeker... but Leliana? With her pro-mage sympathies? I wonder if things really are changing in Thedas. Never thought I'd see the day."

"Either of them would do an admirable job, though Cassandra's sensibilities are certainly closer to my own than Leliana's. However... I am learning to appreciate the spymaster's methods more as we continue to work together."

"Well, you can bet they won't be asking for your opinion. Mine either. But they will want the Inquisitor's opinion. Whoever she supports will likely be the next Divine. That's where you and me come in, Curly. We gotta be there for her if she needs to talk through this one."

Cullen gave Varric a wry grin. "I'm not sure she'll have as much trouble with this as you're anticipating. She respects Cassandra, but her heart is with the mages as well as with the elves. My bet is she supports Leliana."

Varric raised an eyebrow. "Aaaand you're ok with that?"

Cullen thought back to the siege and the rows of mage warriors protecting his men with barriers, taking down demons, and ultimately giving their lives to fight rogue mages. Although he'd seen it before - the First Enchanter Irving of the Ferelden Circle had often sided with the templars in serious matters - he'd never seen the attitude reflected in an entire group of mages before. He'd always assumed that first enchanters were a rare breed willing to turn against their own.

Most of the mages under Fiona's care, however, were just as concerned with keeping magic safe for all as he was. It still made him uncomfortable to think of mages without oversight, but at least he could now admit that it _might_ be possible for mages to govern themselves.

"I'm... getting used to the possibility."

For the first time since Cullen had met him, Varric seemed to have nothing to say. "Well... alright, then."

"Besides, you and I both know that Evana will do what she feels is right, regardless of what either of us think."

Varric laughed. "True enough."

Cullen nodded at Varric and raised the papers. "Well, I have much to do before we depart tomorrow. Until later."

"See ya, Curly."

After receiving new messages from Skyhold, Cullen met with Rylen and the lieutenants again that afternoon to discuss final logistics for tomorrow's journey. He managed to make it through the entire meeting without bleeding or fainting or being too distracted by a headache to really listen. His head _was_ pounding, but it wasn't migraine strength quite yet. A small swig of the draught would get him through answering the new correspondence from Josephine and Leliana and a long-overdue discussion with Rylen about next steps... both professionally and personally.

Tomorrow, he would begin the long journey back to Skyhold.

 

**

 

Nearly three weeks later, Cullen let out a sigh of relief as he rode through the darkened gates of Skyhold. Well, not really relief, but at least he would have a shred of privacy now. Travel had been brutal, and the episode that threatened in the Western Approach hit him with a vengeance about a week after leaving the keep. He'd run out of draughts and tea two weeks in. Now, it was all he could do to dismount without falling off the horse and drag himself up the stairs.

The cooler air of Skyhold soothed his fevered body, but he barely made it to his office before the dizziness and nausea overtook him. He closed the door behind him and fell to the floor in front of a bucket - the one he kept in his office for just this purpose. His body convulsed with dry heaves because he'd been too sick to eat much during the past few days. Finally, the heaves subsided, and he rested his head against the cold stone to catch his breath.

The physical symptoms of this episode were the worst yet. Even during the initial phase of withdrawal, during those first few weeks of chills, tremors, hallucinations and unquenchable _need_ for lyrium that left him curled up in a ball in his bed, he hadn't felt this awful.

The nightmares still haunted him, but the one bright note seemed to be that, after the episode at Adamant, the dark thoughts plagued him less and less during the daylight hours. He'd only slipped into those thoughts a few times during the trip, and they never captured him to the point that he couldn't shake them off with a little effort.

His aching muscles protested as he attempted to pull himself up from the floor and away from the bucket, so he just turned around to lean his back against the wall instead. He pulled deep breaths into his lungs in an attempt to calm his stomach and ease the pounding in his skull. Despite the fever in his blood, his skin felt cold and clammy.

The need for lyrium burned through him, but his mental clarity allowed him to dismiss the desire. He wasn't foolish enough to ruin more than a year's worth of progress. Or risk her disappointment. What he really needed right now was a mug of calming tea and a week of sleep. Not that he'd truly be able to sleep that long right now, but perhaps when this was all over...

And for the first time in his life, the thought of having no purpose or mission, of not having something to work toward, didn't frightened him. During his trip to Honnleath with Evana, he'd allowed himself a dream. That dream had taken on a life of its own in the ensuing weeks and months. Now, where he ended up after the Inquisition mattered far less than who he was with. The possibility of a future with Evana by his side dangled within his grasp... and he meant to grab onto it with both hands if he could.

 _What I_ really _need right now, though, is to get up off the floor._ A messenger or soldier could walk in at any moment and find their Commander curled up against the wall. Not exactly the awe-inspiring position a military commander should present to the world.

Making yet another attempt, he turned to face the wall and pushed himself up. His arms and legs shook but ultimately held. He stood by the wall for a few moments and breathed as if he'd just run several miles in his armor. Finally, he took a half step forward... and his legs gave out.

His left knee hit the floor hard, and he let out a stifled howl of pain along with a string of foul curses. Sucking in sharp breaths through gritted teeth, he exhaled vocally several times as he reached out to grip at the wall, his head pressed once more against the cold stone.

"Maker, preserve me," he pleaded harshly into the stones.

And of course, that was the moment someone decided to enter his office. Perfect.

"Commander?"

Rozellene. It took her a few moments, but she finally spotted him.

"Commander! Maker have mercy! What's wrong? Are you ill?"

Then she was at his side, helping him up and into his desk chair. His jaw had locked in place as he hissed through the pain radiating from his knee, so he didn't respond right away.

"Is there something I can do for you?" she asked in a worried tone. "Fetch a healer?"

Cullen's jaw began to relax, and he attempted to speak even as he continued to breathe through the pain. "No. No healers. Put the kettle on. I just need tea... tea and rest."

"Of course, ser." She quickly filled the kettle and placed it on the hook over the fire someone had lit in his office. "What else can I do for you, ser?"

The concern oozed from her voice. Cullen hated it. He hated relying on other people. He wanted to be strong enough. He wanted to be well again. He wanted to be the man Evana deserved. But he couldn't tell the Lieutenant any of that.

He could, however, attempt to ease her concern with a little bit of normalcy. With some effort, he schooled his voice and breathing into a more even tone.

"You can bring me one of those pouches on the mantle there... Would you care for some tea, Rozellene?"

"I- uh... yes, ser. That would be... nice."

And suddenly, her hesitant tone reminded him that she didn't necessarily view him in the same platonic manner that he viewed her. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea, after all. It was done, however, so he would just have to be careful what he said.

He heaved himself up from the desk chair, intent on retrieving the mugs from the bookshelf. He took a tentative step, testing his knee for any damage. It hurt, but he couldn't feel anything torn or broken. He limped toward the bookshelf, leaning heavily on his desk, but Rozellene appeared in front of him before he'd taken two steps. She handed him the tea pouch.

"What else?"

He cleared his throat and looked his lieutenant in the eye for the first time that evening. "Uh... The mugs. There on the bookshelf."

He turned back to his desk, but instead of sitting in his desk chair again, he moved toward the plush chairs by the fire. Rozellene put the mugs on the side table next to the fire and came to assist him into a chair. He turned it toward the fire before he sat down and pulled the table between the chairs.

"Not a word of this to the other lieutenants," he said, trying to inject some humor into the situation. "They would never let me live it down."

Rozellene's voice was quiet as she stood beside him. "I would never, ser."

Cullen bit back a sigh. He waved at the chair to his right.

"Have a seat."

She oriented her chair toward the fire as well and then sat stiffly on the edge. She'd behaved in a highly professional manner with him since her return from the Approach - none of her normal joking and teasing, but also no pouting or diffidence. Just polite and professional interactions that had directly led to them marching on Adamant two weeks ahead of schedule. Suddenly, it occurred to Cullen that she might not have wanted to stay for tea at all. Perhaps the professional demeanor was her way of dealing with their somewhat awkward situation? Perhaps she'd only accepted his invitation because she thought she had to?

"You don't need to stay if you'd rather be elsewhere, Lieutenant. I did not mean to commandeer your evening. Please... I'll be fine. I merely fell and bruised my knee." He looked away from her upright figure and added under his breath, "I've lived through far worse."

"Would you _like_ me to leave, ser?"

She'd turned the question back on him, and he didn't know the answer. He had no interest in her romantically - his heart was filled with another - but he did wish for a return to the friendly camaraderie they'd shared when she first joined the Inquisition. Despite her Orlesian name, she was born and raised in Ferelden and had been a highly-regarded lieutenant in the King's guard. She'd also been one of the first professional soldiers to join ranks, and he, Rylen and Rozellene had instantly bonded over their mutual dedication to the cause.

He'd encouraged the strong bonds across ranks in direct opposition to his experiences in Kirkwall. Because of Meredith's harsh dictates and air of untouchability, the other templars had often come to him with their issues instead of the Knight-Commander, especially as Meredith became more unstable. He never wanted to be the type of commander whose officers felt like they couldn't approach him.

And yet here they were.

"Not necessarily. I simply don't want you to be... uncomfortable. I know you're a highly dedicated soldier."

He heard her exhale quietly. "I'm a person, too, Commander."

Cullen looked over at her in surprise. "I know that. Of course, you are. That's why I thought you might like to leave instead of babysitting your clumsy Commander."

She was silent, but her body finally relaxed into the chair. After a few moments, she responded, "If we can speak freely, I'd like to stay... ser."

He tensed, and a vague sense of alarm wound through him. He had no desire to crush her feelings this evening... but perhaps they simply needed to get things out in the open, clear the air of whatever misconceptions might exist between them.

"It's been many months since you've requested such a thing. I suppose I'll allow it."

He gave her a small smile, and she half returned it. Silence descended between them once more and remained until the kettle began to hum. Clearly, she wasn't ready to speak freely quite yet. He leaned forward in his chair, pulled off his gloves to open the tea pouch and poured the leaves into the mugs while Rozellene stood to wait for the kettle to boil.

"Now is good. It tastes better if you don't let the water get too hot."

She simply nodded, pulled the kettle off the fire and poured the water. Placing the kettle on the hearth, she returned to her chair and looked at the mugs.

"It smells a bit... earthy. What kind of tea is it?"

"It has herbs and barks mixed in for relaxation and pain relief. It's harmless, but be careful how fast you drink. It will put you to sleep."

"From the markings on the pouch, I gather it's an elven tea?"

"It is."

"From the Inquisitor?"

Cullen clenched his jaw, then released it and nodded. "Yes."

"And you drink it often?"

"I have several types, but this one I reserve for..." He paused, unsure of how to continue. Finally, he shrugged and finished with, "when I'm feeling unwell."

"And how often do you feel... unwell... ser?"

Cullen didn't answer immediately. She'd always been blunt and straightforward. It was one of the things he appreciated about her, but he hadn't considered she might want to speak of his health as part of "speaking freely." He cleared his throat, but remained silent, trying to determine how much he wanted to say.

Before leaving for Adamant, he'd set in motion the necessary approvals he would need from the advisors to promote her to captain. The Inquisition had grown enough to need more points of command, and she was his best lieutenant. Rylen already knew of Cullen's withdrawal, and though she was unaware of her pending promotion, perhaps this was the perfect opportunity to tell her as well.

But he'd remained silent too long. She began speaking again.

"You can tell me to mind my own business if you want. I just thought you should know there're rumors going around the barracks that you're... dying. The rumors vary as to what you're dying _from_ , but most agree that it must be something awful."

She flashed a wry grin, and Cullen couldn't help it. He laughed aloud. He shouldn't be surprised. In the last year, he'd likely been seen by one or another of his soldiers in varying stages of a withdrawal episode. In all honesty, he was surprised it had taken this long. However, he'd done all he could to prove his health on the good days, and perhaps that had been enough to stave off the gossip for a time.

Rozellene shifted in her chair to face him more fully. A half-smile that didn't quite extend to her eyes played on her lips, and an unbelieving look clouded her face.

"Then, it's not true?"

He sighed and turned to face her as well. "I hardly know. Planning the siege was difficult and stressful. Then the actual battle... and the injury-"

"You were injured?"

Her voice contained a note of panic, so he quickly reassured her. "Just a gash in the leg. It has since healed." Cullen absently rubbed the spot on his thigh as he continued. "I don't sleep well most nights, and that makes it worse..."

"Commander... makes _what_ worse?"

"The lyrium withdrawal."

She was not a templar, so she couldn't know from experience as Rylen did. But the look on her face told him she had heard or perhaps even seen the awful things that came of a templar deprived of lyrium. And right now, with his weakened body and a head that felt like it might split open at any moment, he probably looked a lot like whatever she might have seen or heard.

He reached for his mug and took a long drink. A familiar calm slowly washed over him.

"You stopped taking lyrium?" she asked in a hushed tone.

"Yes."

"On purpose?"

He laughed. "Yes."

"How long, ser?"

"Over a year now. The episodes come and go. Most of the time, I feel well enough. Some days I even feel good. But... I still don't know whether this will kill me. Only you can say if that will be disappointing to the soldiers."

He sent her a lopsided smile before taking another long swig of the tea. She sucked in a deep breath, and he waited for her to speak.

"Does the Inquisitor know?"

"Yes. Hence the teas. She also makes tea concentrates for me if I need faster relief. They have been invaluable in keeping the symptoms at bay. She has been... highly supportive of my goal."

"Ah... And Rylen?"

"Rylen knows, as do the advisors and several of the Inquisitor's companions. Seeker Cassandra is keeping an eye on me and will replace me if necessary." He sent her another wry grin. "I'll have to let her know you can now be counted on as an informant."

"Not without your approval, ser."

"You have it. I do not want to lead if I am not fit for it."

"I... respect that, ser. And you, very much, for what you're doing."

Cullen felt a tinge of embarrassment spread across his cheeks. He tilted his head in acknowledgement as he turned to face the fire.

"Excellent. I'd expect nothing less from my newest captain."

Rozellene was silent. Then, "Ser?"

"I put in the request before we left for Adamant, but that's merely a formality. Leliana and Josephine would not question my judgment. It is as good as done. We'll talk more about it tomorrow." He finally glanced at her and found her looking surprised but hesitant. Turning to face her more fully, he gave her a quizzical look. "Is there a problem?"

Rozellene looked away from him and then back. "And the Inquisitor?"

Cullen furrowed his brows. "What of her?"

"She would not... question your judgment on such a thing?"

"She would not."

"But you've not approved it through her, yet."

"I haven't, but as I said, it's merely a formality. When she returns from the Approach, she will sign the request. Then I'll assign you to your new command. It's as good as done."

She still looked hesitant but sent him a polite smile. "Then you have my thanks, Commander, for your faith in me. However, if it doesn't interfere with your plans, I'd prefer to keep this quiet until the approval is signed. I don't doubt your word, ser, but without the official decree, I'm afraid the other officers might not... accept it."

Cullen considered her words and found them to be well-reasoned, even if a bit unnecessary. He couldn't imagine any of the officers would refuse her command, but it made no real difference to him. If it would put her at ease, he could easily put off the promotion.

"Very well. You will remain a lieutenant until the appropriate paperwork is signed."

"Thank you, Commander. For everything."

Cullen nodded but said nothing further, and she asked no other questions. Instead, she picked up her mug to taste the tea. A curious look passed over her face. Then she shrugged, rested the mug on her armored thigh and stared into the fire. He turned to face the fire as well.

The thought briefly crossed his mind that Rozellene might think the Inquisitor a jealous woman who would deny a promotion out of spite. He fought back a smile. If only Rozellene knew how Evana was concerned for her... which spoke volumes of the trust Evana placed in _him_ and his feelings. The trust was well-placed. He would rather die than be responsible for hurting the love of his life.

As they sat in companionable silence sipping their tea, the pounding in his head and knee gradually subsided into minor aches, and he let out an involuntary sigh. His armor bit into him as he tried to slouch into the chair, so he sat up and began unbuckling the plates and pauldrons and vambraces and greaves. He thanked Rozellene yet again for her help as she placed it on his armor stand in the corner.

Once free of the unwieldy armor, he let himself sink back into the plush, high-back chair. The quiet of the room and the gentle flicker of the flames lulled him into a light doze, and he woke to the sound of Rozellene shifting in her chair. _So much for maintaining professional behavior._ She was looking at him with mild concern, so he spoke in a jovial tone to ease her mind.

"How long was I out?"

"Not too long, ser."

He nodded and sat up straighter in the chair. "I'm feeling better now. If there are any further rumors going around, now would be a good time to tell me. I don't think I have the energy to get angry about much of anything tonight."

Rozellene didn't respond immediately, and he looked over to see her face tinged red in the firelight. _Maker's breath. What now?_

Finally, she spoke quietly. "The only other rumor of substance is that you are... you and the Inquisitor... are..."

Cullen determined to be both as blunt and as vague as he could be. "You are already aware of the nature of my personal relationship with the Inquisitor."

Rozellene nodded but didn't look at him. She took another sip of the tea. After a moment, she spoke again, and it surprised Cullen that she seemed to be continuing the line of questioning.

"What I don't know, ser, is whether... " She paused, and he waited. He could easily end the conversation right now, but then things would remain awkward. So, if they must have this conversation, he would let her direct it. "Even seeing... that... I don't know how to address the rumors, ser."

He hadn't heard the rumors, but he could guess at them. Likely, the gossips had progressed their relationship much further along than it actually was... at least physically. Not that he didn't want that. In fact, if both of them felt well enough when she returned, he planned to finally show her exactly how much he loved her, body and soul. But that's not something he was going to say to Rozellene. So, he said the only thing he could think to say.

"I don't know what rumors are flying about... but I love her. And... she loves me. That is the simple truth of the matter."

It was the first time he'd said it out loud. He'd repeated it incredulously in his head many times, but saying it out loud... Maker, Evana _loved_ him. It still seemed unreal, but she'd said it to him again before she left him at Adamant and even written it in her letter - _ar lath ma, vhenan._

Rozellene sat up straighter in her chair. "You're... happy, then?"

"More so than I've ever been," he replied without hesitation.

Her voice did not tremble as he thought it might. She responded clearly and firmly.

"Then I'm happy for you, Commander. I'll do my best to curtail the rumors."

"Maker, I don't even want to know," he groaned.

"No, you really don't," she returned, a bit of laughter in her tone.

Everything he might say to her - how he was sorry he couldn't be what she wanted, how he hoped she might find similar happiness with another - it all seemed so condescending. She was a remarkable woman. She didn't need his pity.

So, he settled with a soft, "Thank you, Rozellene."

She nodded. They both took a long drink of the tea and were silent again. Cullen stared into the fire and allowed himself to briefly wonder what might have been if Evana hadn't come into his life. Without experiencing the fire in his heart and mind for a woman so perfect for him, would he have eventually ended up with Rozellene? The lieutenant was strong and capable, and though not a ravishing beauty in the conventional sense, she was quite pretty with her striking green-gray eyes and long, dark hair. More than that, he felt comfortable in her presence, which was saying a lot after all that had transpired to make things awkward. Part of him thought he could have grown to care for Rozellene, but he knew it would've never been anything like the all-consuming love he felt for Evana.

And realistically, he likely would have resumed the use of lyrium without Evana there to talk him down and keep him focused. That would have effectively sentenced him to an early death. Knowing that as well as he did, he wouldn't have pursued a relationship with anyone.

He owed Evana so much. He once again sent up thanks to the Maker for the elven mage who loved him in return despite his many flaws.

As they sat together in comfortable silence, the watch called out nine o'clock. Rozellene hummed. He looked over at her as she turned and gave him a tight smile.

"I see what you mean about the tea putting a person to sleep. And my typical aches and pains have disappeared. No wonder you like this stuff." She stood, placed the empty mug on the table and then colored slightly pink as she continued, "Will you be able to... get up to your loft on your own?"

Cullen nodded. "I'll be fine. We'll debrief in the morning. Meet me here after sunrise."

She saluted. "Yes, Commander. Goodnight, ser. And... thank you for answering all my questions, no matter how impertinent."

"Of course, Lieutenant. Thank _you_ for your assistance - and your company - this evening. Sleep well. We have much to do tomorrow."

She saluted in acknowledgment and then disappeared out the side door. His knee felt much better after the tea, so he drained the rest of his mug, moved stiffly to each door to lock it, and slowly pulled himself up the ladder to his bed. He kicked off his boots and was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI - For those interested, you can read Cullen's long conversation with Rylen in the second half of [chapter 24 of THTBLHL](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9047525/chapters/34891283), which occurs during the first part of this chapter.


	61. In which fear attempts a comeback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite her conversation with Cassandra, Evana continues to struggle in the aftermath of Adamant and questions whether she is really the right person to lead the Inquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**TW: Brief but explicit thoughts of suicide near the beginning. Please take care of yourselves._

Evana Lavellan in her Fade Dalish gear.

 

In the days following the battle, Varric and Vivienne returned to Skyhold with Cullen, The Iron Bull, Sera, and Solas made themselves comfortable at Griffon Wing Keep, and Blackwall remained at Adamant with the Grey Wardens and a large contingent of Inquisition soldiers. Cullen had suggested and she agreed it would be a good idea to bolster the Wardens' numbers with Inquisition soldiers to mitigate the risk of further corruption, at least until they dealt with Corypheus.

Then, Evana took Dorian, Cole and Cassandra Venatori hunting.

After two weeks in the massive and desolate Hissing Wastes fighting off hostile wildlife and killing multiple encampments of Venatori, Dorian, Cassandra and Cole had given only cursory objections before attaching themselves to the next caravan to Skyhold. Dorian's protests about leaving Evana behind in "a sweltering cesspool of rotting carcasses" had been half-hearted at best. Cassandra demurrals were more sincere, but the warrior's shoulders drooped with each exhausted step. And Cole had been acting strangely even for Cole, so she sent them off to Skyhold without a second thought.

Despite the strong Inquisition presence in the Forbidden Oasis, she needed fresh companions to investigate the temple. Solas readily agreed in order to get a closer look at the ruins, and Iron Bull and Sera were eager to get going when Evana promised them a dragon fight.

The only thing that gave her pause was the knowledge that Cullen would worry. The achingly sweet letter he'd left for her proved he already _was_ worried for her. It also made her wish they could more often correspond without a spymaster looking over their letters - he never would have written so tenderly if Leliana were going to read it. But regardless of his concern, she _needed_ to conquer. She needed to overcome. She needed to kill a dragon.

At this point, she'd try just about anything to make the nightmares go away.

So, they fought the high dragon in the Western Approach. It was tough, and as exhausted as she was from weeks of interrupted sleep, she felt strong and triumphant when the beast fell under their combined effort. But that night back at the keep, the nightmares came to her anyway - along with more disapproving looks from Captain Rylen the following day at her continued exhaustion. He'd not said anything to her up to now, but apparently, he drew the line at dragons.

"Eh, Your Worship... exactly how am I to explain this dragon business to the Commander?"

She shrugged at him. "You could tell him at least we left the dragon in the Wastes alone?"

Rylen lifted an eyebrow. "That'll be of great comfort to us both as he flays me alive, I'm sure."

Rylen had become far more familiar with his words and tone since they'd working together at Adamant. Most of the time, she appreciated his quick wit and sarcasm. Now was _not_ one of those times.

"He knows there's nothing you could have done," she offered lamely.

"Doesn't mean he won't expect it of me anyway."

"I'll write him a letter," she'd relented with a sigh.

Now, as they trekked through the Approach, Evana wiped sweat from her brow for the thousandth time and watched her friends do the same. Only the thought of all that cool, beautiful water in the Oasis kept her going. Even the prospect of hearing Solas' thoughts on the ancient elven temple couldn't hold a candle to the idea of submerging herself in one of those crystalline pools. Her pale skin, raw from days of being peppered with sand and grit and burned by the too-hot sun, yearned for the soothing waters.

The oasis was a day and a half ride from the keep, so they reached the Inquisition camp closest to the temple in the early afternoon of their second day. Evana jumped off Lyla and into the first pool she came to, armor and all. Sera quickly joined her, splashing about as Evana floated in the water, while Bull and Solas went on to the camp. Sera splashed Evana a couple of times, but when she didn't splash back, Sera lost interest and left Evana to her floating.

In the shaded seclusion of the ravine, with the water lapping at her skin, Evana let herself feel the weight of the past few weeks. When the horrible images of their recent battle flashed through her mind's eye, she didn't push them away. After all, if she couldn't rid herself of the terror while asleep, she probably didn't deserve to ignore it during her waking hours.

Her eyes burned as she acknowledged that hundreds of Inquisition soldiers had died under her orders. They'd followed her into battle and paid the ultimate price. They might have joined of their own volition, but _she_ had led them to death. Add to that her crippling guilt for forcing Stroud to fight a losing battle _for her_ all while she stitched up his only means of escaping the Fade...

Hot tears built at the corners of her eyes before sliding down to mix with the cool water surrounding her. She took a controlled breath. Then another. But she only spiraled deeper into the despair that seemed to suck at her from the blackest corner of her soul.

She'd never admit it to anyone, but she was reaching her breaking point. She wanted to scream and wail. She wanted to fall apart. But it wasn't in her nature. Everything in her balked at the idea of being caught in such a moment of weakness.

A deeper, more reckless part of her, however, desperately wanted it all to end.

It was a familiar feeling - that impulse to withdraw from those around her and run away from her problems. She hadn't had the feeling in months, but how could she stay - how could she _lead_ \- knowing that she would have to do it all again? That she would need to tread paths slick with the blood of her soldiers and then watch as their mutilated corpses were collected and burned? For with Corypheus pulling the strings, she could not doubt that more death and destruction lay in her future.

Damn Corypheus! Damn him to the Void! From those they'd lost at Haven, to the rivers of blood spilt at Adamant, and every death at the hands of red templar or Venatori in between, he'd taken so much from the people of Thedas. Her mind burned with the sights and sounds of hundreds of battles, both large and small, since that fateful day at the Conclave.

She'd only come to watch the discussions play out. She'd never intended to become a part of anything. And she dreaded leading hundreds more people to their deaths.

The thin shred of her remaining logic pushed back and reminded her that she likely wouldn't feel this way if she were getting regular sleep. After all, someone had to make the hard decisions. If not her, then Cassandra, or perhaps Cullen, would have to take on that burden. How could she justify forcing them to bear that weight while she ran away to hide like a child?

Creators. She was such a coward.

But she was just so incredibly tired. So maker-damned _tired_.

The tears came faster now that she'd finally let them come, burning down her temples as the weight of her responsibilities, her failures, her fear, crushed her. _Just one more day here at the temple_ , she consoled herself as she raised a hand to cover her eyes, her body falling deeper into the water with the movement. After today, she could begin the long journey back to Skyhold... and back to Cullen. Maybe things would be better there. Maybe wrapped up in Cullen's arms, she could find a bit of peace.

She missed him more every time they were forced to part. She understood the necessity. They had jobs to do. But it didn't keep her from dreaming of a time when she might be able to stay with him for more than a few days at a time. When she might be able to lean on him for strength instead of trying to hold herself up all on her own.

The water inched up her face as she continued to float, and with a final inhalation, she allowed her body to succumb to the drag of her soaked armor. For a moment, she remained still, letting the water suck her downward, fill her nostrils and wash away the evidence of her weakness.

She opened her eyes and looked up through the clear water into the blue sky. Undulations caused by her own body and oasis breezes blurred the outlines of rocks and clouds as her lungs began to burn, and for a split second, the temptation to let the water in overwhelmed her.

Let it fill her lungs. Let it take her consciousness...

She suddenly pushed her legs downward, broke the surface of the water, and gulped in fresh air. Gritting her teeth against another onslaught of tears, this time stemming from her spiraling guilt and shame, she rose up and slogged to the shore.

Such a _fucking_ coward.

By the time she'd pulled herself together enough to join her companions at the camp, the afternoon sun had dipped below the tops of the canyon walls. They still had a couple of hours of daylight, but the pervasive shade cooled them further as they headed up through the mining tunnels to the temple entrance. Solas led the way, eager to see the temple for himself.

Evana trailed behind, fighting against her growing self-loathing. When they reached the temple door, however, she locked it all away and donned the mask of confidence she'd been wearing since the day the Nightmare demon had shaken her belief in herself.

She lit the Veilfire brazier and handed it to Solas. He walked through the first hallway and stopped at a large, central door.

"Fascinating. The temple is called Solasan, or ‘a place where pride lives.' This chamber is the main hold, but there doesn't seem to be any way to access it."

Evana stood beside him as he ran his hands over the ornate door, and she looked around to get her bearings. It had been some time since she'd first been here. The stairs to the lower chambers caught her eye.

"Maybe unlocking all the chambers below will unlock this one?" she offered.

Solas turned toward the stairs and hummed in agreement. He slowly moved away from the main chamber and took the stairs to the lower levels. Evana, exhausted but still curious, followed close behind while he pointed out architectural features and artifacts. Sera, on the other hand, was not amused.

"What's all this chit-chat? I thought we was gonna to fight some demons, not ogle elfy crap."

"All in good time," Solas admonished with a hint of impatience in his tone. "We must be cautious. The Inquisitor reacted poorly to the magic during the previous visit."

Sera blew a raspberry at Solas. "Yeah, that's 'cause she messed with all this magic shite in the first place. Creepy, crawly, dripping temples with skittering things in the dark. You two go pokin' around, and first thing you know, something gets pissed."

"Oh, something better get pissed," Bull responded. "I'm _counting_ on it. Too much traveling and not enough killing things makes me antsy."

Evana looked back at the two and chuckled dryly. "If the cold chambers were any indication, we've got plenty of fighting ahead of us."

"Good," the archer and warrior replied in unison.

Bull grinned. Sera giggled. Solas sighed.

In silent protest, Solas took more time than even he usually spent investigating the temple. Evana listened closely as they picked their way through the statues and discussed the runes revealed by the Veilfire. By the time they stood before the first set of doors, Bull and Sera were chomping at the bit for some action.

"These are the spirit chambers," Solas warned. "The alters within will imbue you with spirit resistance. I believe your experience with these powers will be no different than your reaction to the cold resistance. I would like to watch over you while you sleep tonight, as the spirit resistance may have unforeseen consequences in the Fade."

Evana didn't answer immediately, but finally, she nodded. She'd been avoiding Solas in the Fade, but now that the nightmares plagued her nightly... if Solas walked the Fade with her tonight, perhaps she wouldn't fall prey to the terror quite so easily.

The nightmares took different forms, but the ones that hurt most played on her fear of Cullen's rejection of her as a fraud. She knew it wasn't real. In his letter, he'd barely mentioned the fact that she was no longer their Herald of Andraste, though she could tell he had read her letter from the way he responded. Instead, he'd talked about it out of concern for her and how she was dealing with the revelations of the Fade. She should have known he wouldn't care. But as with her conversation with Cassandra, it had been much needed reassurance. Remembering it now eased some of the self-doubt still raging inside her.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, she moved in front of the door, and Bull handed her the pack of shards. She inserted the first set. The door swung open. Sure enough, demons and ghouls rose up to fight them. She barely had time to put up a barrier for them all before Bull charged in, hacking and swinging, until none were left.

She approached the first chest, took a deep breath and shoved the lid open. As with the cold resistance, small wisps of magic flew around her briefly before entering her body. A humming overtook her senses as her own magic clashed with the new resistance magic, and then a faint whispering pushed into her consciousness as the magic took hold. She did the same with the next door... and the next. With each progressive room, the whispering that clung to the edges of her mind grew louder. She pushed on. Any additional spirit resistance had to be good, especially for a mage.

On top of that, the whispers conveniently made it harder to concentrate on her own fears eating away at the tattered shreds of her confidence.

With all the spirit doors opened, they moved on to repeat the process in the fire chambers. A flicker of heat pushed outward from her chest, warmer with each room. Finally, they opened the last door, and after another quick battle, she absorbed the wisps of fire resistance into the roiling pot of her thoroughly unsettled magic.

In spite of - or perhaps because of - the uncomfortable whispers and flashes of heat, she felt a new kind of energy flowing through her body. As with her tangle with the dragon, she felt powerful, as if she could overcome any foe. Desperate to keep the feeling alive, she turned her back on the final empty chest and headed back out into the anteroom.

"Let's go upstairs and see if the main chamber is open."

Bull and Sera needed no further encouragement. They headed up the stairs, while Solas nodded and followed them at a slower pace. Evana noticed his vaguely concerned look, and instead of pushing ahead like she wanted to, she fell in step beside him. The physical exhaustion and mental exertion of the last few weeks had apparently ruined her usual sense of caution because she smiled reassuringly and, without thinking, reached out to take his hand.

"I'm fine, Solas. I promise."

Her heart jumped into her throat as she realized her error, but Solas captured her hand in his before she could let go. Her smile, already faltering, faded out of existence as he pulled her to a stop just before they rounded the final corner into the main chamber.

"Your magic already struggles with the changes," Solas murmured in a low tone, his voice uncommonly full of emotion. "I can feel it. I fear the next few days will not be pleasant for you. I fear..."

He trailed off, his eyes roving over her face as if searching for any signs of distress. She tried to ignore how his slender, elven hand fit so neatly with hers and how close to her he stood. These were not things she wanted to notice. Instead, she focused on his words.

"These last few _weeks_ have not been pleasant for me. Whatever happens now, I will endure it."

Solas released her hand like it burned him. His face faded from concerned to serene, but his eyebrow quirked slightly.

"You sound like the Commander."

At his words, a surge of joy caught her off guard, her emotions spinning wildly. Instead of responding, her lips split into a wide grin, and as one, they turned to climb the remaining stairs.

As she walked, her hand absently rose up to press against the amulet through her leather armor. It had become a comforting habit since their trip through the Fade. When she felt worn out or discouraged or confused, she placed a hand over the coin and everything seemed a bit easier to bear. Once they returned to Skyhold, she'd have to show Cullen how much she truly loved his gift. Perhaps one way in particular...

She shook herself again. Although those thoughts were exponentially more pleasant than the ones she'd harbored earlier in the afternoon, now was not the time. However, this second reminder of all the good that came along with the difficult things in her life strengthened her determination to overcome her fears.

As they crested the top of the stairs and approached her other two companions, Bull nodded toward the door where he'd already placed the remaining shards. "Looks like the final door is open for business. Shall we?"

She cast a barrier spell over all of them and the nodded at Bull. "Go for it."

Bull pushed the door open immediately charged the ghouls and pride demon within. Sera followed close behind, flanking the ghouls and providing cover fire. Trusting Sera's skill, Evana strode into the room and took up the high ground, focusing her efforts on the pride demon. She threw round after round of ice spells to slow its movements and allow Bull to get in some good hits without taking damage. Solas worked around the room to maintain barriers and disarm the hostile wards.

When the Pride demon finally fell to its knees and dissolved into a pile of ichor, Evana wasted no time approaching the final chest. She expected Solas to protest, but he merely watched her closely. She shoved the lid open, and a sudden surge of electricity pushed into her. Pain tore through every limb, but before she could even cry out, darkness descended.

She woke up a few minutes later in Bull's arms as he hurried through the mine tunnels. Disoriented, it took her a few moments to register her position, but then it all came back in a sudden flash. She pushed lightly against his chest to get his attention.

"Bull, let me down. I'm fine now. I'm awake."

Her voice sounded weak to her own ears. Bull must have thought so as well, as he merely tightened his grip.

"Not on your life, boss. I'm getting you back to the camp, and then you're going straight to bed. I was there the first time around, remember? I know what's about to happen... or at least that _something_ is about to happen."

Sera popped up beside Bull and gave Evana a half frightened, half angry look. "Andraste's hairy ass cheeks! Had to go and scare the piss outta me, dint'ya? Crazy magic temple shite! Never again, Inky. Never again!"

Evana sighed and relaxed against Bull. If he wanted to carry her like a child, she had no way to stop him - not without hurting him anyway. But she wasn't going to bed. Not yet. Even with the surge of power she'd felt from the imbued resistance, she wasn't ready to face the nightmares.

They reached the Inquisition camp in short order, and Bull finally put Evana down. Her legs wobbled dangerously, and the uncomfortable heat, along with a new prickling sensation, spread under her skin. Bull hovered around her as if she might suddenly collapse until Solas came over, put a gentle hand to her elbow, and led her to a shaded patch of ground. Sera brought her some of the roasted ram turning on a spit over the camp's fire pit, and her companions otherwise treated her as if she were a fragile thing that might shatter any moment.

She wanted to be angry with them for treating her like an invalid, but she couldn't... because their fears weren't unfounded. Her body tingled and hummed, stabbing and burning sensations spreading steadily from the inside out. She suddenly empathized rather strongly with the roasted ram on that spit.

To make matters worse, despite the setting sun, the desert retained its unbearable heat. She looked across the scrubby ravine floor toward the pools of water. Perhaps another swim would do her good... this time without the underwater part. She removed her armor and boots and started toward the nearby pools.

"Where you going, Inky?"

"For a little swim. Care to join?"

Bull piped up. "Do you think that's a good idea, boss?"

"If you're worried about it, come along. But I'm getting in that water. I'm burning up."

She caught the glance Bull shot Solas but decided to ignore it. They would worry for her, regardless, and she already knew what was coming. If she could make it through the next few days of travel, they'd be back in cooler climates.

The heat and prickling sensations remained faint for the moment, as the cold had been, but in a week, the burning and tingling would likely be unbearable. The trick would be getting enough sleep, not only because of the nightmares, but now especially because of the whisper of spirits in her ears.

_Damned nightmares. Please... if you're there... Maker, Creators, Andraste... anybody, really... please let Solas be able to help. I desperately need sleep._

Evana, uncaring of who might see, removed her leathers and tunic and waded into the water in nothing but her smalls and breast band. She sat down up to her shoulders in a shallow section a little apart from Bull and Sera, who were practicing some sort of battle move.

Sera clambered onto Bull's shoulders, and he surged through the waist-deep water as if he were hacking at enemies. Sera, bow in hand, tried to keep her balance while calling her shots. Sera fell into the water over and over, cackling and cursing the whole time, but eventually, she got the feel for his movements. They moved to shallower water, and Evana raised her brows at their proficiency after such limited practice.

Solas ended up joining them at the pools as well, but he didn't get in. Instead, he knelt at edge of the water nearest to her and closed his eyes in apparent meditation. From her vantage point, she could read the relaxation in his face and wondered why he'd bothered to come if he weren't going to get in the water. She feared she knew the answer but reserved her judgment. Except for the brief holding of her hand in the temple, she didn't think his actions had reflected much more than friendly concern. And even that... friends held hand sometimes, too.

And friends they were, all of them. The despair of earlier in the day seemed a distant memory in this relaxed moment. But with each day she pushed herself and each night the dreams interrupted her sleep, it became harder to remember the good things in her life - her friends, her talents, her cause.

Because she still believed in the Inquisition. She believed in their goals. She didn't know if she believed in herself anymore, but she didn't want things to end. She didn't want to run away. Not really.

As dusk descended in the oasis, Evana finally stood from the water. Solas had returned to the camp, and Bull and Sera sat at the edge of the water, talking quietly. Sera whistled long and low as Evana emerged from the pool.

"Oi, that's a pretty sight, innit? Too bad you got a jackboot up in there."

Evana tried not to blush as she pulled on her tunic and pants. "Do you always ogle your superiors, Sera?"

"Eh? Who's a superior? I'm here 'cause I wanna be. Not 'cause you make me."

Evana huffed out a laugh as she finished dressing and approached the other elf. "I remember. Are you two staying here?"

They joined her, and the three of them walked back slowly, Bull and Sera throwing jokes and innuendos back and forth the whole time. The water had helped alleviate some of Evana's discomfort, and now the cooler breeze that came with a desert night whipped across her wet clothes and cooled her further. However, the painful tingle coursing through her limbs and the whispers in her head remained. She was about to enter the tent she and Sera shared when she felt a gentle hand on her forearm.

"I should be close by you tonight, as a precaution."

She jumped in surprise and stared at where Solas' hand lingered. He retracted it slowly, and she glanced up to find that same serious look on his face.

"You will be," she reminded him, "in the tent right next to ours. You can find me in the Fade tonight, and we'll walk together."

He let out a small sigh. "At least allow me to attempt to stabilize your magic. I have been meditating on your aura this evening, and I think I might have found a way to assist."

So that's why he'd come to the pools - a perfectly reasonable thing for a friend to do. However, a part of her, the part that feared her instinctive reactions to him, wanted to say no. She had carefully maintained distance between them up to now, but... Solas might be the only one who could help her get through this.

She nodded and followed him outside the reach of the fire's glow to a secluded alcove of rock and sand. She sat cross-legged on the ground, and Solas kneeled in front of her, his knees nearly touching her shins. In the dim light, she watched his hands rise up on either side of her head. They began to glow a soft, healing green, and she closed her eyes as she felt his magic circle around her.

An overpowering desire for deeper connection flowed through her. His magic slid over her mind, pulling at her consciousness - a subtle demand for submission. The magic cocooned her in warmth of a different kind than the heat currently tormenting her. It lulled. It soothed. It brushed at the edges of her own magic.

As if in a trance, her magic opened to him the tiniest bit. Exhilaration mixed with an underlying sense of terror as the tendrils of their magics entwined at the edges.

Of its own volition, her body leaned forward.

In the next instant, Evana jerked back as her eyes flew open, panic raging through her. His eyes focused on her intently, giving nothing away, and she blushed as she wrestled back control of her magic.

Her hand rose up to find its source of comfort in the coin between her breasts. She wrapped her fingers around it through the thin fabric of her tunic. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes once more and centered herself with the gift from her lover.

She belonged to Cullen. He belonged to her. Solas was a good friend helping her with a magic problem - help that _didn't_ require her to give him free access to her own magic.

As she continued to focus on the amulet, she felt her magic respond, strengthen and then begin to settle. Like a puzzle, floating bits of resistance magic gradually slipped into new places. The warmth under her skin cooled, the tingling pain in her limbs faded, and the whispers in her ears quieted. She opened her eyes to find Solas staring at her, an inscrutable expression on his face, his hands resting lightly on his knees.

"Do not stop," he said softly. "Whatever you were doing, it worked."

"But you were using your magic, too."

Solas shook his head. "I stopped as soon as I felt your magic pull away. You have always had amazing focus in battle, but... you seem to have gone into a deep meditation and healed your own magic."

Evana stared at him a moment, all thoughts of illicit magical connection thrown out of her head by this new development. She had... healed herself? She knew it to be possible - mages with healing skill often healed their own minor injuries. But she'd never been skilled enough to do such a thing before. And this was unsettled magic, not a flesh wound. In the past, she'd had little time or patience for meditation even during her sessions with Solas and Dorian, but now she began to rethink that position.

Clearly, meditation had its uses. It had helped them close the Breach, and now it settled her magic in a way she'd never experienced before. Could it strengthen her magic and perhaps give her an edge against Corypheus when the time came to face him? Could it even help her deal with her own spiraling emotions? She didn't know, but it was worth finding out.

"Well, then," she breathed.

"Quite."

She gave Solas a half smile and then shivered as a breeze swept over her. "I think it's time for me to get some rest. You'll still walk with me? There are... other things I'd like to speak with you about."

Solas inclined his head and returned her smile. "Of course, lethallan."

They returned to the camp, and Evana headed to her tent. Despite her lingering fear, the exhaustion of the last few weeks drew her quickly into a deep sleep. Once in the Fade, Evana stayed put, floating in a dream pool and waiting for Solas. Soon enough, he appeared next to the pool.

"Shall we walk?" he asked.

Evana emerged completely dry and dressed in her traditional Dalish robes. "First, I'd like to talk. Let's sit."

They sat on the edge of the water, and Evana turned to Solas with a grimace. "I can't be certain, but I think the Nightmare demon, despite its supposed banishment, has latched on to me... or rather to the anchor. Although it never speaks, I can... I can just feel it. It hunts me every night, and even in its weakened state, I can't seem to break free when it takes over my dreamscape. I thought it would tire of me after a while, but I guess I'm an easy target right now because... because of what happened in the Fade."

Solas' face turned serious. "I must admit I have noticed you struggling. I am glad you feel you can confide in me about this." He paused and hummed in contemplation. "You are likely right that the magic of the anchor allows the demon to locate you even in its exile, but the fact that it can take over your Fade walking... that is concerning. Are the nightmares about the Fade itself or something else?"

Evana swallowed and glanced at Solas out of the corner of her eye. "No, despite our journey and recovering my memories, I don't fear the Fade. The nightmare preys on other fears." She sighed. Despite his obvious pleasure in being her confidant, she didn't actually enjoy revealing so much of herself to him. "I'm not their Herald of Andraste, you know. The Divine died because of me - to _save_ me. Even with Cassandra and Cullen's assurances, I fear they and others will reject me because I am not what they once thought me to be."

"The title of Herald was thrust upon you," Solas countered. "You should not mourn its loss. Nor should you mourn the loss of the title you still bear should they decide to strip that from you as well. Titles are not who you are, lethallan, and lack of them does not decrease your skill or wisdom. You are better than they. Do not forget it."

Evana blinked. "Better?"

"You have a rare and marvelous spirit, lethallan, unlike any I have encountered in all my travels."

"I don't think that makes me better. I simply want-"

"It _does_ ," Solas cut in. "The sooner you accept that, the more easily you will shake off these fears and claim the world that already belongs to you."

Evana felt deeply uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation. She knew Solas was elven-centric. Most elves were. His words, however, spoke from a place of power. Was he hoping to use her position to raise the elves higher than other races? As much renown and recognition as she'd gained, even she didn't have the kind of power required to flip the balance in Thedas in favor of elves.

What motivated him, then? To merely see an elf rise up? She couldn't shake the feeling that his words had something to do with his secret. And she began to fear it was a bigger secret than she'd anticipated.

"Well..." she finally responded, "before I can do that, I have to break the nightmare's hold on me."

"With your new resistance, you should be able to escape whatever magic the nightmare is using to hold you - or at least break from its grasp more easily. I will help you if I can."

"Thank you, lethallin. Shall we walk now?" Evana had already begun to stand but paused when Solas hesitated. "What is it?"

"I must tell you... I think it might relieve some of your struggles to know..." He paused as if measuring his words. "I spoke to a spirit recently, who told me that it had come across a human in the Fade. It also revealed to me that it had helped this human find his way _out_ of the Fade."

Evana's heart seized in her chest, and she fell out of her crouching position onto her backside with a grunt of surprise. "What? What do you mean?"

"I mean," Solas said in a firmer tone, "that I met a spirit who found Warden Stroud and helped him find a way to leave the Fade."

Her mouth hung open as she took a deep breath and then let out a shaky exhale. "I... where is he? When did this happen? What kind of spirit? Are you sure-"

"I am positive that it was, indeed, Warden Stroud. However..." He paused again, his eyes sliding away from hers. "The spirit indicated that the chosen exit from the Fade did not actually lead to Thedas."

Evana stared at Solas, uncomprehending. She'd nursed the guilt for leaving Stroud to die in the Fade until it had become an unwieldy thing lumbering around her subconscious, crushing her will to heal and move on. It loomed large in all her subsequent decisions and featured heavily in her nightmares - Stroud dead and broken in the Fade, or worse, a wraith of the once proud Warden, starving, emaciated and begging for death.

"I... I don't understand," she whispered brokenly.

"The spirit I met was one of prescience. Through a strange sequence of events, the spirit happened to be in this part of the Fade when we banished the Nightmare. After divining a host of possible outcomes for Stroud, it decided to lead the Warden to the place he would most be at peace. I know not where. The spirit would not tell me. I only know that he is alive and presumable happy, but he is no longer _here_."

Half of her desperately wanted to believe Solas' words. The other half couldn't help being skeptical.

"And you trust this spirit?"

"I believe it told the truth. Warden Stroud is safe, though likely rather confused at the moment."

Finally, she let herself entertain the possibility. Stroud might be safe. He might, even now, be adjusting to a new place with new people. Perhaps even a place without Blights and darkspawn magisters trying to tear the world apart.

"I... thank you for telling me. Does anyone else know?"

Solas remained silent for a long time. "There is one other - a mage - who experienced the interactions and can corroborate my words. I do not believe she would care to discuss the matter with anyone, however."

Something seemed off about his answer, but the lightness in her chest drowned out her suspicion. Stroud was alive! She hadn't sent him to his death after all! She sat in stunned silence for a long while before finally shaking herself from her musings.

"I don't know what to say," she admitted in a hushed tone.

"I only wished to help lessen whatever unfounded guilt you might be feeling on account of Warden Stroud's supposed demise. Let us say no more about it."

He stood up, and she followed in a bit of a daze, her mind still processing the strange news. A part of her still couldn't believe it, but she could think of no reason why a spirit would lie about such a thing. And who could come up with such a strange story, anyway?

She remained ensconced in her own thoughts until they reached the far more impressive Fade version of Solasan. The lovely sights and plethora of available memories all over the structure claimed her attention, and they wandered around, stepping into various scenes to watch the ancient elves in the temple.

In one of the more interesting snippets, they discovered how the shards were created with a powerful spell to bind the magic to the temple. Evana was glad she hadn't seen these memories before entering the temple. They would have made her more nervous than she'd already been.

Just as she began to think she might make it through the night without a nightmare, the world around her began to contort unnaturally. At first, she ignored the way the Fade shifted around them, but as the nightmare solidified into something recognizable, she grabbed at Solas' hand.

"It's happening!"

Solas looked around, then gave her a quizzical look. "I see nothing, lethallan."

"You don't see the way the Fade is shifting around us?"

Solas replied, but she could no longer hear him. His body began to fade from view, his hand losing substance. Suddenly, a look of surprise and dismay crossed his face. He came back into full view almost instantly.

"You began to fade away," he said in an almost accusatory tone.

She held onto his hand more tightly. "As did you. Do you know what's happening?"

"We have been taken somewhere," Solas said as he looked around them. "To a replica of Skyhold, it would seem. And I believe you are correct about the Nightmare. It is not a strong presence, but it is shaping your existing fear and holding you here through that fear. You must resist."

Evana shook her head, immensely grateful that he was there with her, but unsure of how to proceed. She hated the idea of feeding the Nightmare, of letting it have this power over her. But how did a person simply "get over" their fears?

They stood in the middle of the great hall at Skyhold while vague flashes of people circled around her. If her other dreams were any indication, the flashes would soon solidify. She needed to get out before then.

"Can you see the flashes?" she asked.

Solas looked around. "Flashes? No, I see only the great hall at Skyhold and you."

"I see people and things that come into focus and then fade away around me. Some I recognize from previous nightmares. Others are unfamiliar. I wonder if your presence is preventing them from fully materializing?"

"Hmmm... that may be, though I am unsure why my presence would make a difference. Let us walk and see if we can discover a way out."

She tried to walk forward, but found her feet stuck to the floor. No matter how hard she pulled, her feet seemed bound to the stone. Despite knowing deep down that the Nightmare was playing at her fears even now, she panicked.

"I can't move!" she cried out. "I'm stuck!"

Suddenly, a creeping, familiar voice echoed faintly around them. "Ah... you are stronger tonight. And you've brought the prideful one with you. Do you think he can help you? His power is weak. He is not what he once was..."

Solas growled. He _growled_ into the echoing space of the empty great hall. At least he could hear the demon. She wasn't completely crazy.

"I am not as weak as you seem to think, fear demon, and neither are you as strong as you pretend. Stroud might not have killed you, but you have been beaten and banished nonetheless. The Warden mages are no longer bound to you. You will never be as strong as you once were, and we will not be held by you tonight. Be gone!"

As Solas spoke, Evana struggled to free her feet while the images coalesced around her. She resisted, but forms encroached on her vision and overtook her senses. Everything felt so real. The winds of Skyhold. The sun shining down on her face. The roar of the adoring crowd.

The nightmare, however, was an old one. First, Leliana appeared, then Josephine, and finally Cullen. They stood on the dais holding the same ceremonial sword they'd given her the day she was made Inquisitor. As in her previous nightmares, they passed her by, pushing her out of the way as they handed they sword to another.

"Didn't you know? You are utterly replaceable in every way. Just as your clan rejects you, so too will he reject you for someone better."

Suddenly, unlike her previous nightmares, the person receiving the sword took shape as a tall human woman with cropped, fiery red hair, brilliant green eyes and a warrior's body. Evana's surroundings shifted to focus on Cullen, and she saw it then - the look on Cullen's face as the other woman held the sword aloft. It was the same adoration he'd once reserved for _her_.

She gripped at her chest, suddenly gasping for air as her fingernails scraped across her armor. Her legs gave out, and she fell to her knees while the nightmare's voice rung out all around her.

"He will cast you off for another - one who actually deserves him."

"No!" she whispered, tears she'd tried to control slipping past her defenses as the vision shifted to a darkened loft - Cullen's loft.

Although this nightmare was new to her, Evana instinctively understood what awaited her in this place. She tried to turn away, sobs ripping from her lungs with every breath, but the surroundings shifted with every turn, and in the soft candlelight, two figures came into focus.

Cullen lay on his back on the wide mattress, his tunic riding up his chest to reveal perfect abs and his trousers pulled down his thighs. His face contorted with intense pleasure, and his breath came in labored pants as he stared up lovingly at the woman straddling his hips. The impressively sculpted and entirely naked warrior woman from before rode him with apparent relish, their moans mingling between ragged breaths. Flame glinted off her hair as she slid up and down his cock, her fingers digging into his abs with each upward thrust of his hips.

And when the perspective shifted just right, Evana stopped breathing entirely as she caught the glitter of a familiar, beautifully crafted amulet bouncing between the other woman's large, pert breasts.

Evana keened and curled in on herself, but neither of them paid her any mind. Pain radiated from where her knees had slammed against the floorboards, but it was nothing to the agony of watching Cullen gladly make love to this other woman - a woman who seemed to be his match in every way.

Who had replaced her in every way.

"Please..." she whispered brokenly as the onslaught of tears obscured her vision. "Don't... Don't leave me alone. Cullen. _Please_."

She felt a pull on her shoulder, and suddenly Solas came into view beside her. "Evana! Resist the visions! Whatever you are seeing, it is not real. You must not be afraid. The nightmare is feeding on your fear. You are _more_ than this. You are _better_."

Evana closed her eyes focused on Solas' voice. It wasn't real. None of it was real. When she opened her eyes again, they were back in the great hall of Skyhold.

Flashes of the loft scene came back to her, tormenting her, but she pushed them away. Cullen would never do that. Deep down, she knew it. And as much as she might fear it, they couldn't simply replace her, either. They'd chosen her as their leader. Although she didn't think of herself as better than them, if her accomplishments were any indication, she had been a good leader so far. Who cared if a long-dead prophet did or didn't give her the mark? She had it, and she had used it to bring peace and stability to Ferelden and Orlais.

She had to be stronger, needed to believe in herself. She had to stop letting the Nightmare feed on her and put these fears behind her for good.

Evana wiped her eyes and stood, her spine stiffening in defiance. Solas gave her a small smile, slid his hand from her shoulder to grab her hand, and pulled. It felt like wading through a vat of molasses, but she took another step. Then another. The faint voice of the nightmare echoed behind her, spouting poison in their ears, but she ignored it and focused on Solas' presence beside her. The solid comfort of his hand in hers. Together, they walked out of the great hall and found themselves in an expansive field of prairie grass.

As they walked on, the voice faded to silence, and the pull on her mind weakened. The field gave way to green forests of ancient trees and then to a meadow full of wild flowers and green pools of water. Eventually, Solas broke the silence that had gathered around them.

"I believe we can awaken now if you like. You seem to have pushed back the Nightmare for tonight, and morning approaches."

"Oh... shouldn't we return to the Fade temple first?"

"If you like. I simply thought you might want to leave the Fade as quickly as possible after your experience."

"No... I'd rather walk a little further if you don't mind."

Solas looked off into the distance before turning his intense gaze back to her and lightly squeezing her hand. "I do not mind."

She ducked her head to avoid his gaze and began walking again. Without a word, Solas fell in step beside her. Although she resented it and would never admit it, the feel of his strong hand wrapped around hers gave her a measure of comfort after the visions had so thoroughly shredded the edges of her heart. Even knowing it hadn't been real, Evana couldn't shake the lingering feeling that Cullen deserved a woman like that - one who could match him hit for hit on the battlefield and who didn't have magic to get in the way of a fulfilling relationship.

Slowly, she slid her hand to the side until she could lace her and Solas' fingers together. She heard him inhale softly, but a side-long glance told her that his face remained as serene as ever.

After all, it meant nothing. She just needed the comfort, the connection, and since he'd been the one to grab her hand in the first place, he must not mind. A peacefulness settled over her as they continued on through hills and rocks and finally to the familiar pools and ravines of the Fade oasis.

"It is nearly sunrise," Solas murmured in a low voice. "We should wake."

She turned to find him regarding her with a curious expression. Thinking he awaited an answer from her, she nodded.

"You're right. We need be on our way."

She closed her eyes and willed herself to wake. Solas' hand slipped away, but just before she woke, she thought she felt the flutter of something over her lips.

Her eyes flew open to find dawn light seeping through the tent canvas above her, and her fingers rose up to touch at the vague and fading tingle. She swallowed hard, suddenly and cringingly aware of every single lie she'd told herself in the past few months and especially during the past day.

Solas cared for her. She'd known it from the beginning. And last night, in her selfish need for comfort, she'd not only allowed him closer but had actively encouraged his closeness. She groaned softly and covered her face with her hands.

Yet another failure. Another mistake.

Cool air slid against her skin as she lay still, listening to the quiet of the morning. What should she do? Should she address it and let him know it had been a mistake? Or should she pretend she hadn't felt the whisper of his Fade kiss and work harder to avoid him?

Because for her, those were the only valid choices. The primal beast deep down might clamor for the dangerous intensity Solas offered, but her heart still belonged to Cullen. Even the nightmare couldn't ruin that, although it would be some time before she could scrub the sight of him with that other woman from her mind.

Through Sera's quiet snores, she heard a faint shuffling outside the tent. Throwing a blanket over her shoulders, she got up. Steeling herself for the encounter, she emerged from the tent into the gray, misty morning. Solas stood by the fire, so she approached and smiled up a him when he turned to look at her.

"Well, it's a start anyway," she murmured cheerfully and turned away to help the soldiers prepare breakfast.

Such a fucking _coward_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to read more about Solas' experiences looking for Stroud, you can find that in chapter 23 of THTBLHL (part 2 of this series).
> 
> And a bit of useless trivia for you: The woman in Evana's dream is actually the Quizzy from my second playthrough, a warrior Trevelyan named Cressida who sided with the templars and, of course, also romanced Cullen.


	62. In which things go from bad to worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one is having a good time right now. Except maybe Sera.

The candle sputtered as it burned low, and Josephine reached into her drawer to change it out for a fresh one. She extinguished the flame and tossed the short stub into a basket to be used in her bed chamber just as her mother had taught her as a child. The Montilyet family had been in debt for over a hundred years, and her mother and grandmother had been queens of thrift. Anything to keep up appearances and keep the family name from ruin.

Now she had a chance to reinstate her family's right to trade in Orlais, make her family business profitable once more, and pay off all those old debts, but someone kept sabotaging all her work. Josephine let out a frustrated huff as she tried to concentrate on the letter she'd been writing, but she couldn't focus. She stood and began pacing in front of her fire, which is how Leliana found her when she entered Josephine's office.

"Trying to wear a hole in the hearth rug?"

"What? Oh, Leliana, I didn't hear you come in. Is there news from the Inquisitor?"

"Not since the note this morning about the dragon."

Despite her sour mood, Josephine couldn't help giggling. "I thought Cullen's head might explode. ‘Maker's breath, another dragon! I never should have left the Approach without her.'"

Leliana laughed along with her. "You do excellent impressions of all our dear friends, Josie."

"I've got quite a good one of you, too, if you'd like to hear it."

Leliana smiled faintly but shook her head. "Perhaps another time. I actually came with news about our saboteur. My agents informed me that a Comte Boisvert in Val Royeaux claims to know who killed your messengers. He would like to meet with you and the Inquisitor at your earliest convenience."

"The Inquisitor? Oh!" Josephine started pacing again. "How unfortunate! No doubt he wants to be seen with the Inquisitor for political gain of some sort."

"No doubt. Here is the missive if you'd like to review his request." Leliana raised an eyebrow. " _Now_ will you consider asking her for help?"

Josephine skimmed the letter and let out a loud, rather unladylike sigh. "Yes. I... I suppose I must."

"Write a note. I'll send it immediately. With any luck, Evana will receive it before she leaves Griffon Wing Keep. In the meantime, I will message my agents in Val Royeaux to keep watch. Something about this doesn't feel right. I'd like to be prepared."

She sat down immediately and wrote a note to Evana. It would take too long to wait for a reply, so Josephine decided to leave for Val Royeaux in two days under the guise of a diplomatic visit. And she _did_ have a few people she'd like to talk with in person, so it wasn't a ruse. If the Inquisitor missed the message, Josephine would have to improvise.

She handed off the note to Leliana, who promised to send word ahead if she received a reply. Josephine then finished up a few items on her checklist, blew out her candles and left her office for the night.

A cool night breeze tugged at the tendrils that had escaped her braids as she returned to her chamber to begin packing. The people she wished to see in Val Royeaux had specific expectations of how the Inquisition should look and act, especially after the events at the Winter Palace.

Not that she minded so much. Requirements of dress and presentation meant she could justify a few expenses. A self-satisfied smile graced Josephine's lips as she catalogued the shops Leliana had all but begged her to visit, along with her own list of essential stops. Pulling out her larger trunk, Josephine began the process of finding the right colors and fabrics to please her various audiences.

The following day, Josephine went about her business with the same dedication and attention she always exhibited, but her gut twisted into tighter knots with each passing hour. Just before the dinner hour, Leliana came into Josephine's office holding a small note in her hand, and the ambassador's gut clenched painfully.

Instead of stopping at Josephine's desk, however, Leliana merely beckoned to Josephine as she strode on toward the war room. Josephine checked her notes. No council had been scheduled. The knot in her stomach grew tenfold as she hurried into the war room after Leliana.

"I have summoned Cullen, as well," Leliana said as Josephine entered the room. After a pause, she explained, "I received another note about the Inquisitor's clan."

Josephine sucked in a breath but contented herself to wait for Cullen's arrival. After much trial and error during their early days in Haven, they'd determined it was more efficient for them to talk about things once instead of relaying information multiple times. So, she and Josephine stood in tense silence, waiting.

The handle from Josephine's office door rattled, followed by the resounding crack of the door slamming against the wall. Quick footsteps pounded down the length of the corridor before Cullen burst through the door to the war room and strode toward them without pausing.

"Harvil said you have news from Wycome?"

Leliana nodded and passed the letter to Cullen as soon as he reached the war table. "Keeper Deshanna sent a note, and a corroborating missive from Jester arrived shortly thereafter. The clan is safe within the walls of Wycome, but whispers of retaliation grow stronger by the day. It seems the nobles who fled Wycome are telling vicious tales to the other Marcher city-states. Even now, nobles rally their forces to avenge the Duke's ‘tragic murder.' My spies can do nothing further against this kind of threat. We need another solution."

Although horrified by the actions of the nobles driven out of Wycome, their response didn't surprise Josephine. Cullen handed her the note when he'd finished reading it, and she skimmed it quickly. Cullen started speaking before she'd finished.

"I will send our forces. If this is ever going to end, we need to show the Free Marches that Clan Lavellan and indeed all the elves at Wycome are absolutely _off limits_."

Josephine shook her head. "Sending troops into the Free Marches will only aggravate the nobles further. I may still be able to convince them to listen to reason-"

Cullen cut her off, his voice passionate as he pressed gloved fists onto the war table and leaned toward her. "Josephine, you of all people should understand the nobles' views on elves. If we attempt to negotiate, the Marchers will kill the elves, then send apologies. We _must_ fortify the city."

"I _do_ understand, Commander," Josephine acknowledged, keeping her voice calm and even, "but we cannot send troops into a region in which we have no real influence. It is tantamount to declaring war. We've already interfered with the dealings in Wycome-"

"Because the city was infested with Venatori who were poisoning the wells with _red lyrium_!" Cullen exploded as he pounded a fist on the table.

The map markers shook with the force of the hit, a few toppling over. Josephine took a step back as Leliana placed a hand on Cullen's forearm. He immediately slumped over the war table, one hand holding his weight as the other rose up to drill fingers into his temples. Finally, he looked up, his sunken eyes filled with regret and sorrow, though the underlying steeliness remained.

"I apologize for shouting, Josephine. Truly. But we are _justified_ in this. We have done everything possible to prevent sending soldiers to Wycome." He swept his hand back and forth between Leliana and Josephine. "She sent agents. You sent an ambassador. She sent _more_ agents..."

He sighed and pushed up off the table. Josephine remained silent and willed away the slight burning in her neck.

"If these measures have failed to secure the safety of the Inquisitor's clan," he went on, "the time has come for a show of force that will end all thoughts of attacking Clan Lavellan once and for all. If you like, we can send word to the Inquisitor and let her judge. If she determines diplomacy is best, I will withdraw my troops. But for now, I wish to move forward."

Josephine took a deep breath, her mind working double time to think through all the possible outcomes of sending armed forces into the Free Marches. It seemed like a disaster in the making.

"How..." She bit at her lip before turning her shrewd eyes on Cullen. "Explain your tactics."

Cullen looked a little surprised by her question, but he immediately jumped on the opportunity. "Because of unrest in the Bannorn, I already have a strong force stationed at Caer Bronach. If I send soldiers recently returned from the Approach to hold Crestwood, the fresh troops and laborers - under the leadership of my most trusted lieutenant - can fortify Wycome and defend it. But _only_ _if necessary_. We will not be seen as the aggressors. In fact... could we not arrive as guests of the newly formed council of Wycome? Surely your ambassador could arrange that?"

Josephine blinked and then narrowed her eyes as she wondered exactly how long Cullen had been mulling over this plan of his. She then answered her own question - knowing him he'd likely started planning for a possible assault at the first mention of Evana's clan being in danger.

"We can no longer rely on gentle nudges and secret attacks," Cullen continued. "The people of Thedas need to see that the Inquisition will protect Clan Lavellan and, indeed, protect all elves. If that is not enough for you, consider this. If these nobles attack and murder her clan, it will _destroy_ her. She will blame herself, and considering the events of her past..."

Cullen lowered his eyes to the table and stared steadily at the marker in Wycome, while Josephine tilted her head and furrowed her brow at Leliana in silent question. Leliana shook her head slightly as if to say _I have no idea_. Clearly, Cullen knew more about the Inquisitor's past than they did. After a tense moment, he sighed.

"We _cannot_ risk losing Clan Lavellan," he said resolutely. "The nobles are likely just as irritated at the new city council usurping a Duke's power as they are about the supposed elven uprising. I do not believe they can or wish to be reasoned with. Their goal is to reestablish noble power, and they will not stop unless we at least make a show of defending Wycome."

Josephine carefully hid her surprise at Cullen's perceptiveness related to the nobles' motives. It proved that he easily understood the intricacies of The Game, but that he simply didn't care to pander to them.

The thought rankled, but she put it aside to carefully consider his words. She dropped her gaze to the map, drew in a long breath, and held it a moment before exhaling slowly. The Commander was nothing if not a sound strategist, and she had to admit to the validity of his reasoning.

She had foreseen dire personal ramifications for the Inquisitor, but the political consequences of fortifying a single city-state in a region like the Free Marches... It could cripple any aid the collective city-states might otherwise provide to the Inquisition. In a war against a seemingly immortal darkspawn magister, could they risk alienating and stoking the ire of a potentially strong ally? To be sure, the Inquisitor was a Marcher, but being Dalish, it wasn't the same. If she'd been human, or even a dwarf...

But she wasn't, and that was yet another reason the nobles of Wycome thought they could get away with a direct attack on the Inquisitor's people. No one thought twice about killing an entire clan of elves.

The more Josephine analyzed the situation, the more she doubted her ability to calm the nobles. For one, she had no leverage. Cullen was right. They would march on Wycome, kill all the elves and then claim a "misunderstanding" when the truth came to light. The Inquisition would have no choice but to accept their apologies because doing otherwise would be declaring war on the Free Marches.

If the Inquisition peacefully visited the city by invitation, however, and made no move as aggressors unless attacked...

Yes, a peaceful show of force from the Inquisition, directed by Lady Volant, might be the only way to both save the elves and maintain working - if strained - relations with the Marchers. Josephine could ensure that word of the Inquisition's victory at Adamant reached the nobles by the time troops landed at Wycome. Most already knew the Inquisition had the support of Empress Celene as well as King Alistair and Queen Anora. She prayed it would be enough to avoid further bloodshed.

"Very well. As long as Leliana agrees, I will write to Lady Volant. Ready your troops to fortify and defend Wycome. If the underlying purpose is a show of force, then we need not be secretive. I will arrange for a fleet to take our soldiers over the Waking Sea all the way to Wycome's harbor. Lady Volant will arrange details and make it known far and wide that the Inquisition is visiting the city by _invitation_ from the new city council. It should take no more than six days by ship."

Cullen looked to Leliana, who inclined her head. He shot them both grateful glances and then leaned over the table again.

"Shall I... write another note to Evana?" he asked softly.

"You may," Leliana replied, "but her plans were to leave Griffon Wing for Skyhold the day after tomorrow. We haven't time to notify her before she departs. You'll have to send the note with Josephine to Val Royeaux."

Cullen's face turned quizzical. "Val Royeaux? I thought she was traveling by boat to Jader?"

Josephine's bronze skin flushed. "Ahh... yes. Well, I have requested a change in the Inquisitor's plans. If she receives my note in time, I have asked her to meet me in Val Royeaux for help with a somewhat personal matter."

She could see Cullen's jaw working, tensing and untensing, before he finally opened his mouth to speak. "I see. And how long will it take to address this... personal matter?"

"Only a few hours of her time," Josephine assured him. "We will all travel back together and arrive only a day later than planned. I apologize I didn't inform you sooner. I should have sent you a note, but it slipped my mind."

Cullen didn't look at her, but his jaw still tensed in agitation. Josephine could see he was trying to think through his words before he said them.

He'd arrived at Skyhold a couple of days ago in the throes of a violent withdrawal attack and only now had he begun to look human again. She hated to worry him further, but she could no longer address the issue on her own. She needed help only Inquisitor could give her.

"She has been through much these past two months," he said slowly and deliberately. "You both read her report of her time in the Fade - the Nightmare and the meeting with the Divine. She's been traveling great distances and fighting red templars, Venatori, demons and dragons. In addition, she is currently imbuing herself with magic resistance in a manner that previously made her ill. Please, Josephine," Cullen looked up, his eyes willing her to understand, "... please ensure she is _truly_ well before you ask her to do more."

"Of course, Cullen," Josephine soothed. "It is merely a meeting with a noble. And, of course, if she is unwell, I will call off the meeting and attend to her needs immediately."

Cullen's body relaxed slightly, and he gave her a curt nod. "Thank you. I will send a short note, if that is amenable to you. I'll make sure you have it tonight."

"Of course. I will be in my office or in my quarters for the rest of the evening."

Cullen looked between Josephine and Leliana. "Is there anything else we need to discuss?"

Leliana shook her head. "Not at the moment."

Cullen nodded again and left them almost as quickly as he'd arrived. He left the doors open behind him, anticipating that the women would follow him out, but Leliana made no move to depart. Josephine approached her and leaned against the table.

"Something on your mind?" she asked her friend.

Leliana fiddled with a marker in her palm. "Cullen brought it up, and now I can't stop thinking about it."

They'd discussed many things, but only one topic would have this effect on the normally steely spymaster.

"The meeting with the Divine - or something in the form of the Divine - in the Fade?"

Leliana nodded. "It's difficult to wrap one's head around such a thing, no? I wish Cassandra were here. I have so many questions."

"You'll likely be able to speak with Evana before Cassandra makes it back. Have you tried speaking with Varric?"

Leliana looked up and furrowed her brows. "No. I doubt I could get a serious conversation out of the dwarf. But... perhaps it is worth a try."

"I think Varric will surprise you," Josephine encouraged. "And he will able to describe things more readily than Cassandra."

"That is true. Perhaps it's worth an attempt. It's just..." Leliana paused to place the marker back on the table before turning her full attention on Josephine. "You and the others have become dear friends, but Cassandra is the only one who might truly... understand."

"Of course," Josephine said, her voice steeped in sympathy.

"I thought the Divine had died - we both did," Leliana continued. "Killed in the blast like everyone else. But she didn't. The mark brought her into the Fade, too. And then the Divine sacrificed herself. I shouldn't be bitter, but somehow, it's even harder to know that the Divine _chose_ to die in order to save another. It's not surprising, but it is harder."

"You aren't angry with Evana, are you?"

Leliana shook her head. "It's not as though she had much of a choice in the matter. I could allow my illogical self to hate her for it, but I won't. She has become... something of a friend to me."

"I'm glad to hear it," Josephine said in a lighter tone. "You have enough on your mind without nursing a grudge against our Inquisitor. Besides, Cullen would never forgive you."

Leliana cracked a tiny smile. Then, without warning, she surged forward and wrapped Josephine in a tight hug. Josephine wasn't necessarily shocked. After all, they'd hugged many times before. But not recently. Not within the last several years, in fact.

Josephine circled her arms around Leliana and squeezed tightly. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as she thought back to the days when they would shop all day and stay up all night attending raucous parties in Val Royeaux. That Leliana had disappeared after many years of hardship and being separated from Neria so much of the time.

"Have I told you lately how glad I am you're here, Josie?" Leliana murmured.

"I believe you may have mentioned it, but as a wise woman once told me, one can never compliment a lady too much."

Leliana pulled back slightly and flashed a grin. "What kind of cheeky woman would say such a thing?"

Josephine smiled back, but then her expression turned serious again. "It has been some time since I've seen her, but... I feel as though she might be coming back to me."

Leliana looked down without letting go of Josephine completely. When she looked back up, Josephine was shocked to see tears in the other woman's eyes.

"Perhaps. I see glimmers of her. Maybe someday..."

"When Neria returns?"

" _If_ she returns..."

Josephine shook her head and gave Leliana a little shake. "No. You cannot think that way. You who used to say that we are made to love. Neria will find what she's looking for in the unexplored wilds and then return to you. You must believe it."

Leliana finally stepped back from Josephine's embrace and wiped a hand over her eyes. "I... I will try."

Her hand fell from her face, and all semblance of strong emotion disappeared. She motioned forward, and they exited the war room together.

"Thank you, my dearest Josie. I will leave you to your packing. Please be safe on your journey. My agents will be watching out for you, but as well as I train them, they are not perfect." A glimmer of mischief flashed in Leliana's eyes. "Though your own training might serve you best."

Josephine played along and huffed her displeasure. "If you must know, I was quite a failure as a bard."

"You weren't that bad."

"Thank you... but I really was, and you know it."

The two women turned to smile at each other as they reached Josephine's desk. Josephine leaned forward to kiss Leliana on the cheek.

"Believe, my friend," she whispered.

Leliana nodded and left the office, and Josephine turned back to her desk. Papers and letters covered her desk, and she needed to get a few more things done before she could stop for the night. But the conversation with Leliana echoed in her mind.

Josephine had avoided thinking too hard about the reports from Adamant, but soon they would all have to make a decision - should they continue with a deception? Or should they tell the truth and risk losing both influence and monetary support from those who had pledged themselves to a supposed Herald of Andraste?

She shook her head. It was no use dwelling on it right now. They would have to discuss it further when she returned from Val Royeaux with the Inquisitor. Until then, Josephine would focus on the work at hand.

 

**

 

An unseasonably warm breeze whipped around Josephine's face as gulls dove after the leftover morsels dropped by the fishing boats. The days of travel and then meetings with several important nobles in Val Royeaux had left her calmer than she'd been on her final day at Skyhold. The familiar sights and sounds of the city comforted her. However, as she contemplated meeting with the Comte later that afternoon, her stomach twisted into knots all over again.

She was so caught up in her own thoughts, she almost missed the Inquisitor's boat sailing into the harbor. The four companions jumped from the boat and approached Josephine where she stood on the dock.

"Josephine!" Evana exclaimed, real joy shining from her eyes. "I would hug you, but my armor is positively disgusting. How are you, my friend?"

Thankful for the elf's forethought, Josephine took Evana's proffered hand and clasped it between both of hers. "Inquisitor. I am well. But I am not the one who has been traveling and fighting for the better part of two months. How are you feeling? Cullen made me promise to make sure you were well before anything else."

A light blush tinged the elf's cheeks. "Did he?"

"Oh, yes. He's quite worried for you. I suppose he has a right to be with as often as you jump head first into danger."

Evana's blush deepened, and Josephine took a moment to appraise the Inquisitor. Dark circles extended from her violet tattoo lines and exhaustion oozed from her every look and movement. However, she didn't appear to be ill or suffering any negative effects from her trip to the temple. Josephine sent up a small prayer of thanks.

Still, it might be better to wait for the Inquisitor to refresh herself before bringing up her clan. No need to upset her quite yet.

"I'm glad to see you appear to be recovered from your injuries at least," she offered as they started toward the carriage that would take them to the inn.

"Yes. The healers did good work. I was fully healed before I ever left for the Wastes. I've been having trouble sleeping lately, but..." Evana looked behind her and smiled as she caught Solas' eye. "I'm much better now. The rocking on a boat reminds me of Dalish aravels and puts me right to sleep."

Josephine kept her face neutral. She'd never witnessed such an intimate look between the two companions before, and to her surprise, protectiveness for Cullen welled up inside her. Evana had become a good friend, but after working closely with Cullen day in and day out for over a year, the stoic military man felt much like one of her brothers. An annoying, stubborn brother, but a brother nonetheless.

Josephine quickly resolved to put as much distance as possible between Solas and Evana while they were in Val Royeaux. No reason to tempt fate - as long as nothing had _already_ happened between them. She didn't think Evana the type of person to do such a thing, but as every Orlesian knew, passion - especially the illicit kind - drove even the most sensible people out of their minds.

"I have baths and fresh clothing awaiting you all at the inn," Josephine told them as they walked the docks. "I will need to send a note to confirm our meeting with the comte. I wasn't sure if you'd gotten my message, Inquisitor, so I made the time tentative in case you couldn't make it."

"I wouldn't miss this, Josie. I'm happy to help you." She put a hand on Josephine's shoulder. "And a bath sounds utterly amazing. I haven't had a real one for almost three weeks now."

"Except for divin' right in, armor and all, yeah?" Sera giggled.

Evana rolled her eyes but smiled back at Sera all the same. Josephine relaxed a bit. Perhaps the companions had merely become closer during their travels. She resolved to watch and wait.

As they made their way to the carriage, the sight of such rough, dirty warriors within the city caused much whispering behind hands, and Josephine shuddered to think how many of those whispered words were because she was walking with three "knife-ears" and a Qunari. It was easy to forget such things in Skyhold, but here, where appearance meant everything, Josephine cringed at the overt racism. Despite her love for Orlais and the Game, these moments were enough to make Josephine glad she'd given up her life as an Antivan ambassador. She breathed a sigh of relief when they were all safely tucked into the enclosed carriage.

The inn was situated at the far end of the city, and the concierge welcomed them with more graciousness than Josephine had anticipated. As the man made it abundantly clear that the establishment welcomed _all_ members of the Inquisition, Josephine caught Sera giving him a quick wink. The return flash of a smile didn't go unnoticed, either. Josephine accosted the elf as they climbed the stairs to their rooms.

"The concierge is a Red Jenny?"

Sera shrugged. "Maybe so. Maybe not. Maybe a contact. Maybe just a decent sort. But anyways, where's better than a palace like this to snoop on secrets of hoity toity big people? So, here he is. Red Jenny's everyone and no one, right? Big britches and little mice."

"Well... that makes sense... I suppose."

"What? You think we're all just a bunch of knobs who don't know what's what?"

"No... I simply hadn't stopped to consider. I'm sure Leliana is well aware of your group and connections."

"Yeah she is. Sends me important notes and everything. I even read the interesting ones... sometimes."

Josephine thought it best to not respond, and the weary companions trudged up the stairs in silence. As they reached their rooms, Josephine asked them all to meet her in the in common rooms a half hour before the appointed time. Then she turned to Evana.

"Inquisitor, when you have bathed and feel ready, will you join me in my room?"

Josephine thought the Inquisitor might ask more questions. Indeed, a faintly quizzical look passed over her face. But exhaustion and the anticipation of a bath won out over standing around and asking questions.

"Of course, Josie. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Please, take your time. I have other things to occupy me."

Josephine returned to her room and dispatched a note to the comte to let him know they would meet him just before the dinner hour that afternoon as previously planned. After sending a few attendants to retrieve and clean the companions' armor, she dug out some of the correspondence she'd brought from Skyhold and sat down to finish up a little bit of work.

But her stomach twisted into tighter knots as the minutes ticked by. Finally, she got up and began pacing again. It seemed to be the only thing that could calm her.

Someone tapped at her door, and glad for the distrction, she opened it to find a clean but exhausted Evana standing on the threshold. Josephine motioned toward a large sofa.

"Will you not sit down, Inquisitor?"

Evana cast Josephine a dubious look but sat down nonetheless. Josephine sat down beside her, pulled both Cullen's and Deshanna's letters off her clipboard, and handed them over.

"We have had more news from Wycome. The note from your Keeper arrived too late for us to send you word at the keep, so Cullen wrote you a letter to explain. You should read your Keeper's letter first, though. And I have another letter from Leliana's agent, Jester, if you'd like added context."

Evana's hands trembled as she unfolded the note. As she read, Josephine watched a myriad of emotions play over the elf's face - fear, sadness, anger, dejection. Her voice held tinges of the same when she finally spoke.

"Will this never end, Josie?"

Josephine nodded to the other letter. "Read Cullen's note."

Josephine had not read his note, but his words around the war table left her in no doubt as to the contents. Evana seemed mildly surprised at first, but her features settled into a worried but content expression as she continued to read. Finally, just before she folded the note again, a soft smile curved her lips upward, and she gave a quiet hum of approval. She then looked up at Josephine.

"He says he is sending troops. He says you disagreed with him but allowed him to do so for expediency's sake. May I ask why you disagree?"

Josephine sat down next to Evana. "As I've thought on it a bit more, I don't disagree as much. My concerns are merely to preserve good relations with the Free Marches. Provoking the city-states by occupying Wycome will result in strained relations at best and could cause an all-out war we can little afford. But I understand that we cannot allow an injustice of this kind to occur under our watch. That would also damage our cause. If I could but speak with the nobles in person, I'm certain I could convince them to see reason, but as it is... well, you understand the consequences if I should fail."

"But sending Cullen's troops could result in war with the Free Marches because nobles can't stand the idea of a free city-state partially run by elves?"

She said it more as a statement than a question, but Josephine nodded anyway even as she grimaced at Evana's blunt assessment. Evana sighed and stared down at the letters in her hands.

"Do you realize it's been nearly a year since I first fell out of the Fade? It seems like a lifetime ago." Evana looked up to reveal tears in her eyes. "Clan Lavellan... my home, my people, my _family_... they've always seemed so far away, first emotionally and now physically. I'm not the same person who left the Free Marches to attend a shemlen meeting, but time away has shown me they will always be a part of me, no matter how far I go. I can't escape that truth. I don't want to risk war, and yet..."

A tear escaped her lashes to run down her cheek even as she squared her shoulders. Her eyes hardened, and she brushed the remaining moisture from her face.

"Josie, you know I respect your talents. But I can't risk losing my family. They've been in constant danger for months now, and if Cullen's soldiers can protect them - if the might of the Inquisition is the only thing that can end this - I have to do it. My Keeper thinks I'm doing great things for the elves by leading this Inquisition. What use is that if I can't save them?" She paused, then added under her breath, "I should have just let Cullen go the last time."

"Then we will allow the Commander to continue with his plan?" Josephine asked.

"We will," she confirmed with a nod.

Josephine nodded in return and dipped her quill into her ink pot. As she wrote, she spoke aloud.

"I had already given Lady Volant instructions and subsequently received a very public 'invitation' for the Inquisition to visit Wycome. We will now begin preparations for negotiations with the nobles. If Cullen's troops can keep them at bay with a simple threat of force, perhaps that will give our ambassador enough time to show them the truth of the matter."

Evana nodded and then held out the letters to Josephine. "Thank you, Josie."

"Oh, those are yours... unless you'd like me to keep them safe until we reach Skyhold?"

She retracted her hand and pressed the letters to her chest. "No. No, I'll keep them with me."

The elf sighed softly, and her shoulders visibly slumped toward the floor. She sat limply on the edge of the coach for a few moments before attempting to stand. Before she could rise off the couch, Josephine stood and placed a hand firmly on Evana's shoulder.

"Why don't you lie back and try to rest?" Josephine suggested in a soft voice. "We have a few hours before the meeting. I will be here finishing up correspondence and will keep an eye on the time." _And on you._

Evana looked like she might protest but then seemed to lose the will to fight. She face-planted onto the nearest cushion and let out a long sigh as she closed her eyes and lifted her legs onto the couch. Josephine laid a throw over her Inquisitor's prone body. Evana turned her head and cracked an eye open to give her advisor a small smile as Josephine pulled the curtains closed to darken that corner of the room.

"You're a good friend," she mumbled into the pillow.

Josephine smiled back. "As are you. Now, get some rest."

Josephine worked in silence for the next few hours. It hadn't taken long for Evana's breathing to even out into a deep slumber, and though Josephine's anxiety still hovered in the back of her mind, somehow, Evana's presence soothed her. She worked steadily until she heard a small knock on the door. Thankfully, Evana did not awaken, and Josephine hurried to the door to circumvent any further knocks.

"Who is it?" she called softly.

"It is Solas," came the muffled reply.

Josephine opened the door. Instead of inviting him in, however, she stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her.

"How can I help you, Solas?"

"Ambassador Montilyet, do you happen to know the whereabouts of the Inquisitor? I have attempted to find her-"

"Pardon my interruption, but the Inquisitor is sleeping in my room right now. Did you need something in particular?"

Solas seemed relieved, but a doubtful look flashed across his typically serene face. "I did not think to... She has been calm during her sleep?"

"Yes. Quite calm. She seems to be getting some much-needed rest."

Solas nodded. "Yes. These past few days, I have been assisting her in recovering from nightmares. I am glad to hear she is sleeping well."

Josephine smiled. So, this was the reason for their intimacy. It also partly explained Evana's exhaustion.

"As am I. We'll have to make sure she gets a few moments to rest when we return to Skyhold."

Solas bowed. "That would be wise. I will leave you to your afternoon preparations, Ambassador."

"Yes. We will meet you downstairs later."

The elf seemed to hesitate, his eyes flicking to the door behind Josephine as if he could see through it to the slumbering Evana. A heartbeat later, however, he gave her quick nod and turned on his heel.

Josephine hovered in the hallway and watched him walk away, her head spinning with conjecture. She would have to discuss her suspicions with Leliana. Shaking her head, she reentered the room and sat down to her work once more.

After a sending off a few more letters, including one to Cullen indicating he had Evana's blessing to continue with his mission in Wycome, Josephine finally woke Evana. The other woman rubbed the sleep from her eyes and then peered up at Josephine.

"How long have I been out?"

"Several hours. We have a few moments, but I thought you might like to freshen up before we head out. Your armor should be clean and ready in your room. Or I've take the liberty of bringing a few other options if you wish to wear something different."

"Oh, right. Thank you. I'm sorry I slept so long."

"No need for apologies. I accomplished far more with you here that I would have on my own. Of late I've taken to pacing, you see. I... I am nervous."

Evana gave a small smile as she walked toward the door. "Don't worry, Josie. We'll get this taken care of. I promise."

Four cleaner and much more presentable companions met down in the common room a short time later. Josephine noted with amazement and gratification that everyone except Sera had put on the newer armor Josephine had brought for them.

"The Comte Boisvert's mansion is not far from here," she explained to everyone and no one. "I pray he clears up the deaths of my messengers as promised."

Bull chuckled from behind her. "If not, I'll give him ample reason to never waste the Inquisitor's time again."

Josephine turned and pointed at the Qunari, her face set in a scowl. "You'll do no such thing! You are here to protect the Inquisitor. That is all." Facing front again, she added over her shoulder, "I will personally ensure he pays dearly if this is, in fact, a waste of time... or worse, a trap."

"I bet you will," Sera cackled. "You've got a wicked streak wide as a noblewoman's arse."

Nonplussed, Josephine blinked and murmured, "Oh... thank you."

Evana absently played with at something at her chest - _oh, likely her amulet from Cullen_ \- before dropping it to motion in front of them. "Shall we? Lead the way, Josie."

Despite the nearness of the comte's home, Josephine had hired a carriage. Presentation meant everything to Orlesians... and the enclosed space meant she could protect the group from any untoward stares or comments.

The mansion typified a lavish Orlesian home with white stone architecture, heavy velvet and silk wall hangings, and gilded ornaments everywhere. A servant in brightly colored livery received them and led them through a gallery to an expansive balcony. Josephine quietly motioned for the Inquisitor's companions to remain in the gallery as she and the Inquisitor approached the comte. He sat at a small, ornate table, drinking out of a gold cup, his face covered with the typical Orlesian mask.

"Welcome, my friends!"

His thick, Orlesian accent dripped with condescension, but Josephine remained pleasant and polite. She knew how to play the Game better than most.

"Thank you for seeing us, Comte Boisvert."

"The honor is mine. Please, sit. It's an honor to assist two such _distinguished_ guests."

He motioned to the two chairs opposite him at the table. They sat, and Josephine noticed that Evana leaned back comfortably in her chair. Then, she crossed her legs and yawned politely behind her hand before speaking in soft, dulcet tones.

"We appreciate your help, Comte."

"The death of Lady Montilyet's servants must weigh heavily on you both." He paused to take a sip of his wine before continuing. "You have heard of the House of Repose?"

Josephine furrowed her brows. "The assassin's league?"

"My contacts obtained a copy of a document in their archives. A contract for a life."

Josephine felt her heart plummet. A contract? _Maker preserve me._ With a small glance at Evana, Josephine picked up the document the comte slid over the table to her.

"‘The House of Repose is hereby sworn to eliminate anyone attempting to overturn the Montilyets' trading exile in Orlais.'"

So _this_ was the reason! Someone had put a contract out to ensure her family never regained trading rights. Outrageous! Josephine looked over at Evana, who had sat up in her seat slightly. The elf looked over at the comte for a moment, drawing out the silence before she turned back to Josephine.

"They're not just after your messengers, Josephine. They'll try for you, too."

Josephine couldn't keep the dejection from her voice. "I... I am afraid so, yes."

"The contract was signed by a noble family," the comte continued. "The Du Paraquettes."

Josephine shook her head, uncomprehending. "But the Du Paraquettes died out as a noble line over sixty years ago!"

The insufferable man shrugged. "Indeed, but the contract was signed over one hundred and nine years ago."

Evana sighed, her facade breaking slightly as she rubbed a hand over her eyes. "How can a family try to kill you after they died out?"

"The Du Paraquettes were our rivals," Josephine explained. "They drove the Montilyets from Val Royeaux. This contract was drawn up over a hundred years ago, but it wasn't invoked until I tried to overturn my family's exile."

"Unpleasant though it may be, the House of Repose is merely fulfilling its contractual duties."

Evana had reached over as the comte spoke and rested a hand on Josephine's arm. "You know I'll do everything in my power to stop these attacks, right?"

Josephine smiled. An inkling of a plan had begun to take root as the comte had explained the nature of the contract. She might just be able to get around this if she could work fast enough. And with the Evana's help, she couldn't fail. Leliana would be displeased at the complexity, no doubt, but Josephine was determined to do this _her_ way.

"Thank you, Inquisitor. I think I may know how. The Du Paraquettes still have descendants under the common branch. If we elevate them to nobility, a Du Paraquette could annul the contract on my life."

The comte took another drink as Josephine explained her plan. When she finished, he smiled condescendingly and waved a dismissive hand at her.

"That will take time, Lady Montilyet. Time during which the House of Repose will be obliged to hunt you."

Josephine's eyes narrowed at the comte. "Will they now? You are exceedingly well informed. Your note to us said you'd heard rumors at best?"

Evana leaned back in her chair once more, but even without any kind of magical power herself, Josephine could feel magic fill the air. The threat shimmered all around them and felt decidedly hostile. No Circle mage had ever made such a clear demonstration of power in Josephine's presence, and Evana didn't even have her staff.

Josephine had never felt anything like it, and apparently, neither had the supposed comte. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. Behind them, a small movement revealed Sera holding a drawn bow, Bull crouched and waiting to pounce and Solas holding his and Evana's staves at the ready.

"Just a bit of subterfuge," the man across from them dissembled. "This contract on your life is an ugly business, one the House of Repose deeply regrets. But, this is Orlais. Even an assassin's word is his bond."

Evana's voice was edged with steel as she relaxed into the chair's plush cushions. "I'm guessing the actual Comte Boisvert met with a fatal accident."

Unbelievably, the threat of magic around them intensified. Josephine gasped at the palpable, almost suffocating feeling. The fake comte raised his hands and shook his head, even as he struggled to maintain an even tone.

"He slumbers in a nearby closet! Nothing more. The contract on Lady Montilyet's life is so unusual, we felt the courtesy of an explanation was in order."

As suddenly as it had appeared, the magic dissipated. Josephine took a small breath and then hung her head.

"It is appreciated, Monsieur."

Without the threat of the looming magic, the assassin visibly relaxed as well. "Your idea to seek out a Du Paraquette to revoke our orders is an interesting one. I wish you luck."

The assassin got up to leave, but like lightning, Evana moved to stand in front of him. She crossed her arms in front of her and leaned to one side. She did not summon her magic. She said nothing. She merely stared at him. After a few moments of silence, the assassin cleared his throat.

"I did not come to shed blood today, Inquisitor - only to speak. Might I pass?"

Evana stood a moment more, staring past his mask and into his eyes. Then, she took one step to the side.

"Go, then."

He awkwardly bowed to Evana and then slightly to Josephine. "Good day, Your Worship, my Lady. I pray we never meet again."

As he passed, Evana muttered in a low, even tone, "Yes. _Pray_."

Josephine got up to join Evana at the entrance to the Gallery, but the other woman didn't look at her. Instead, she watched the assassin leave through the front doors. Only when he disappeared did Evana look her way.

"We leave. Now. Cancel our rooms at the inn and book us passage on the next boat to Jader. If you can't find passage to Jader in the next few hours, get us to Halamshiral, and we'll ride the Imperial Highway. I will not stay another day in this city when there is a contract on your life. Let's move."

Josephine opened her mouth to protest, but the muffled sounds of someone calling out cut off her reply. Following the sound, she found the real comte in a locked wardrobe. She began speaking with the incensed noble, but the look on Evana's face kept her from being too accommodating.

"We'll ensure your staff call a locksmith, Comte. Please accept our sincerest apologies for the inconvenience of the situation, but I'm afraid we simply cannot stay."

Even as the comte offered muffled protest, Josephine summoned a servant and explained the situation. Almost before she'd stopped speaking, Evana turned on her heel and walked away, clearly expecting them to follow. The Inquisitor quickened her pace when they emerged from the relative safety of the mansion, and the Iron Bull motioned for Josephine to go ahead of him, a giant grin splitting his lips.

"I'll take the rear guard. No way could anyone hit your tiny body from the back when mine is in the way."

Josephine was beside herself. "Inquisitor... I don't think we have anything to worry about today! They wouldn't warn me only to kill me in the next moment."

Evana threw up a hand - a silent indication that there would be no conversation. Josephine startled as Bull gripped her shoulder, his voice low but reassuring in her ear.

"She's made up her mind. No arguing with her now. This isn't the war room. When she makes a call in the field, we don't question it. We trust her with our lives. That's why she makes the calls like the one she just made about you. Her first priority is keeping us all safe while getting the job done. Ours is to keep _her_ safe while helping get the job done. It's symbiotic."

Josephine could only nod stupidly as they bypassed the carriage - Evana didn't trust the driver - and walked back to the inn with Josephine in the center of the group. Evana's oppressive magic waved and shimmered around them - surely a spell hovered at the tips of her fingers. They cut through the crowds, surprised gasps of anyone who got too close following in their wake like waves behind a ship. And all the while, Josephine silently thanked the Maker that she was on Evana's good side.

Back in the safety of their rooms, they retrieved their meager packs and met in Josephine's room to watch over her as she made arrangements. With the help of the concierge, she acquired last-minute passage to Jader on a boat leaving in an hour's time, and they gathered their things to leave. She didn't even have time to send a note to Leliana, though Josephine was sure spies had been watching them all along and would send word to the spymaster.

Josephine marveled at the turn of events as she double and triple checked her room to be sure she hadn't left anything behind. It all seemed so unreal. She had a contract on her life. Now that she'd had a moment to consider, she grudgingly acceded to the necessity of leaving Val Royeaux as soon as possible. The House of Repose would likely give her a few hours, but any more and... she would be a target. This wasn't how she saw the day ending, but at least now she had a way out of both the contract on her life as well as her family's trade exile.

She just had to make it back to Skyhold in one piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright friends. Brace yourself for the next chapter... Evana returns to Skyhold!


	63. In which words get in the way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Evana reunite, and it feels so good. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, folks, I'd like to draw your attention to the change in rating for this chapter. If you're not into the sexy bits, you can just stop reading after the desk swipe. ;)

For the tenth time, Cullen picked up the top report on the mountain of paperwork before him, fully intending to concentrate. A moment later, a muffled yell near the gate pulled his attention to the window behind him.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Cullen stood and walked quickly out the door to the battlements. Drawing fresh air into his lungs, he marched to the parapet and leaned out to get a good view of the entirely empty bridge leading to Skyhold.

Cullen's thoughts buzzed in his head like a swarm of bees, and he whimsically wondered if Sera had learned how to get bees into people's heads. But he knew full well why he couldn't concentrate.

Leliana's agents had sent word that Evana, Josephine and the rest of the party had left Val Royeaux more than three days ago, which meant they should be arriving at Skyhold before noon. Unless they'd stopped for the night in Jader. If so, they wouldn't be here until this evening. Or tomorrow.

Growling to himself, he turned away from the sight of the bridge, leaned his back against the sun-warmed merlon, and proceeded to scowl at his boots.

_You're acting the fool, Rutherford._

And yet... In a few hours, or perhaps a half day, she would be here, and he could hold her. She would be here, and he could kiss her, touch her, tell her how much he'd missed her, perhaps even show her...

 _But not tonight._ Not _that_. He didn't know if she wanted... he wasn't sure what she wanted. They hadn't talked about their physical relationship in months, and despite her assertions that she loved him, she might not be ready for that step.

On top of that, she would be exhausted. She would need to talk. This time, he'd be there to listen and comfort her as he hadn't after Adamant.

It would be enough to hold her. Maker, it would be enough to simply be in her presence once again.

"Commander, a note from Lieutenant Rozellene."

He did his best to wipe the scowl from his face before lifting his head to accept the note with a curt "thank you." He watched his messenger hurry to his office with other, less important papers in her hands and found his lips curling vaguely upward. Malia had gradually made herself indispensable to him as much for her knack for finding him anywhere in the keep as for knowing when _not_ to find him - those first few days after returning to Skyhold in particular.

The withdrawal episode had ebbed since he'd been back at Skyhold. His reflexes and muscles remained strong, and the same Lieutenants who had awkwardly looked away from his bloodied face at Griffon Wing Keep now struggled to keep up with their Commander during training exercises. He made up for the food he'd been unable to keep down on the journey by eating ravenously now.

But to his frustration, his favorite arming doublet - the one Evana had helped make - still hung loose on his frame even with the buckles at their tightest. And since his conversation with Rozellene, he'd begun to notice the subtle looks from his soldiers that didn't abate with his increasing strength. He wasn't sure what to do about it, or if there was anything he _could_ do about it. His withdrawal symptoms weren't going to go away. He would have bad days again. Yet another reason he wanted a second capable captain among his ranks.

Which reminded him of the note in his hand. He uncurled the scrap of parchment, angled it toward the morning sun, and took in Rozellene's neat writing.

_Commander,_

_The troops from Adamant arrived and settled at Caer Bronach. We left immediately, and as I write this, soldiers are filing onto the ships Lady Montilyet arranged for us. The captain says the weather looks good and the wind is from the southwest, so he anticipates an early arrival in Wycome. I will send another message as soon as we disembark._

_Lieutenant Rozellene Chambreterre_

Cullen folded the letter and took a deep breath to combat the frisson of uneasiness attacking every bone and sinew. He'd chafed at sending someone else to Wycome. Without Rozellene, he certainly would have gone himself, withdrawal or no. She'd been a little stunned when he first ordered her to go, but as he began explaining the mission, she'd taken on an air of determination. Rozellene would ensure Clan Lavellan remained safe.

Turning toward his office, Cullen sent up a prayer for a slice of that same determination. The reports, requisitions and requests filling his desk weren't going to answer themselves.

He strode back to his office and, summoning his supposed iron templar willpower, sat down to work. Any time something tried to distract him, he ignored it, and the world fell away as he became engrossed in strategies and rosters and assignments. So engrossed, in fact, that he nearly jumped out of his skin when a teasing voice echoed through his office.

"Too hard at work to greet your Inquisitor, I see."

His head jerked up, and his gaze immediately landed on the slight form leaning against the doorframe. When their eyes met, she grinned at him in all her dusty, disheveled glory. Cullen's throat constricted as he shot up out of his chair, a few papers and a quill fluttering to the floor in the midst of his surprise and distraction. To his dismay, tears burned at the back of his eyes.

Evana's grin faded into a half-pained, half-jubilant expression as she pushed off the door frame and started toward him. Without a word - he didn't think he could speak without his voice breaking - he strode across the room to enfold her in his arms.

She gasped slightly at the strength of his embrace but then hummed her approval as his lips found her neck. She tasted salty and dusty, but that underlying sweetness and earthy scent lingered on her skin. His lips grazed over the chain of her amulet, and his chest expanded tenfold. She was back, and she was his.

"Evana..."

As he'd known it would, his voice broke slightly, his every breath torn from his chest as if he'd just run the battlements at full speed. Her hands, which had been wrapped around his waist, rose up to caress the back of his neck, the side of his face, his upper arms.

"I'm here," she whispered into his ear. "Are you alright, emma lath?"

He squeezed her more tightly and tried to pull himself together. He should be embarrassed, but he was too busy thanking the Maker for bringing her back to him yet again.

"Yes," he rasped. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, vhenan. I feel the same."

He smiled into her skin, her admission a balm for the weeks they'd spent apart. A deep joy settled into the nooks and crannies of his wounded soul, and he relaxed into the embrace.

When he raised his head to finally look at her, however, his joy transformed into concern as he took in the bags under her eyes and the exhaustion etched into the lines of her face. At his appraisal, her eyes filled with unshed tears. Before she could look away, he raised a hand to gently cup her cheek, so she closed her eyes instead. Salty streams cut rivulets down her dusty cheeks, but he quickly brushed them away.

"My love," he breathed. "How I've missed you..."

His lips pressed against the tear trailing down her cheek, the new scar on her forehead, the tip of her chin, the corner of her mouth. He gently dragged his thumb across her bottom lip and then replaced his thumb with his lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him, taking all the comfort he offered with the soft press of skin against skin.

As the kiss went on, however, her mouth pressed harder and began to move against his, demanding more. He responded in kind, his body quickly trading comfort for heat and a touch of desperation. Her tongue brushed across his bottom lip, and he couldn't hold back the tremor of need. Maker, he could kiss her forever.

Finally, they pulled back slightly, both breathing heavily. Evana looked toward the open door.

"Should we close the door?"

Cullen took the opportunity to trail kisses along her exposed jaw up to her ear. "Anyone who walks into this office just after the Inquisitor arrives deserves what they get."

She huffed out a laugh, but as soon as his lips touched the shell of her ear, she arched against him, all amusement forgotten. He pulled her lobe between his lips and sucked gently, turning her gasps into a breathy moan.

The sounds she made were a heady drug, and his trousers grew tighter with each breath. Feeling his control slip, he moved to trail kisses along her jaw to her mouth in hopes that the action might calm him enough to think clearly. He claimed her lips for a single, sweet kiss before pulling away to place a multitude of chaste kisses on her face and nose and eyes. She rewarded him with a smile and a breathy laugh.

"You can go to your quarters and rest," he told her as he finally pulled back, though he kept his arms firmly around her. "We have no pressing business."

Evana sighed and rested her temple against his chin. "I wish that were true. In Val Royeaux, we discovered that Josephine has a contract on her life."

He tipped her face up with a crooked finger under her chin. "Let Leliana worry about that for today. Josephine is safe in Skyhold. You must give yourself time to recuperate."

"Sound advice, Commander. One would think you were the celebrated advisor of some important person or another."

Her tone was light, but he could hear the underlying exhaustion creeping in. She slumped against him, so he simply held her, reveling in the feel of her. Finally, she pushed away, and he let her attempt it. As she stepped back, however, she swayed on her feet. He shook his head in disapproval and placed his hands on her waist to support her.

"After that display, I'm afraid you have but two choices, Inquisitor. Either I carry you to your quarters _again_ , and this time in broad daylight-"

She gasped in mock horror, "You wouldn't dare!"

"Or you sleep here in my bed until you can get to your quarters under your own power."

She looked at the ladder and then back to him. Her cheeks flushed pink.

"What... what will people think?"

"Do you care?" he asked with a frown.

"I thought _you_ cared."

Cullen reached forward to pull her against him again. "As I said in the Approach, the only thing I care about from here on out is what _you_ want. If you want to stay, then stay. The Void take everything and everyone else."

She threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his mantle. "I just want to be near you," she whispered.

In one fluid motion, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up. "Put your legs around me."

She did as she was told and then gasped, her eyes widening at what she found. A flush crept up from his chest and into his neck as she raised an eyebrow and smirked at him. She remained silent, however, for which he was grateful. He had no intention of indulging his baser self today, but the seductive sound of her voice could easily test his resolve. He shook his head at her and pressed a quick kiss on her irresistible lips as he walked over to the ladder. She held onto him tightly to make his climb easier, and he kept a hand around her waist to prevent the rungs from digging into her back.

It took a little balance - and a lot of self control - but he managed to make it up to his loft without incident. He deposited her on the side of his bed and immediately knelt down to help her out of her coat. He tried to remain disassociated, but his hands trembled as he released each clasp of the tight-fitting armor.

As he worked, she removed her gloves and looked around his loft, a deep frown disturbing the lines of exhaustion. Suddenly, she squeezed her eyes shut and drew in a shaky breath through her nose. He released the final clasp and then lifted a hand to cup her cheek.

"Evana?"

She opened her eyes and gave him a pained smile. "It's nothing."

He shot her a doubtful look, but she avoided his gaze and began pulling the coat from her shoulders. Not wanting to push her when she was so exhausted, he let it go in favor of helping her remove her boots.

The coat came off as he finished with the laces of her second boot, and he gently pulled off both boots and placed them beside the bed. Finally, he looked up to find her staring at him. Her quiet voice held a note of something he couldn't place as she reached up to card her fingers through his hair.

"It seems I've given my Commander yet another opportunity to undress me - in his bed no less." The hand in his hair paused as she turned her gaze to the red and gold counterpane. Her other hand smoothed out a small wrinkle in the fabric as she murmured, "How many times is that now?"

"Four," he replied automatically, his neck flushing with heat at the telling reply.

"You _are_ keeping count," she said in a low tone, her eyes lifting from the bed to give him a sidelong glance. "And... you seem to enjoy it."

His breath caught in his throat. The intonation of the phrase told him she was teasing him, but the underlying question made his heart stop. Despite the heat rising up his neck, desire overruled embarrassment and prevented his normal stumbling. Instead, the words came out rough and breathless with sincerity.

"I do."

He needed to leave now before he messed this up... before he did something he'd regret. But as her eyes returned to him in full, a corresponding blush stained her cheeks. Her chest rose and fell in rhythm with her own uneven breathing.

"Well then..." She paused, and he watched in fascination as her throat worked through a hard swallow. "Perhaps you could... do so again sometime? When I'm not as tired. And when I can return the favor. Sometime... soon?"

 _Well, that answers that question._ He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"I'd like that."

At his soft reply, the final vestiges of her frown disappeared. She leaned forward, and he realized that she'd unlaced her tunic at some point. The amulet rested on her breast band, and as she leaned over, the pendant dangled between them. She reached down to grab his hand.

"Good." Her voice lowered to a seductive whisper. "Because I'd like to show you just how much you mean to me, ma vhenan'ara."

_Maker's breath..._

Her lips touched his, a brush of heat and longing and, again, that hint of something undefined. Before he had time to react, she pulled away to crawl under his blankets. Turning to face him, she smiled as he gaped at her.

Finally, he regained enough motor function to move closer and gently take her face in his hands. He kissed her softly and then pulled away to look her in the eyes.

"I love you... I..."

He wanted to say so much, but as usual, the words wouldn't come. She tilted her head and touched his cheek with cool fingers.

"I know."

"It's good to have you home."

A tear formed in the corner of her eye, but she quickly brushed it away. "It's good to _be_ home."

"Sleep well, my love," he murmured with a final press of lips to her forehead.

She closed her eyes, and he stood away from her, staring at her lovely form. It was odd. All the times he'd fantasized about them making love, it had always been in her quarters. Never his. But there she lay, sleeping peacefully in his bed, under his covers, as if she'd always belonged there. His mind filled with a brand-new set of images.

_Later, you mongrel._

With a soft sigh of resignation, he quietly climbed down the ladder. He sat down at his desk, but much like waiting for her to arrive earlier in the day, he noticed every shuffle of the covers and creak of the mattress. Gradually, though, he adjusted to the sounds and focused on the tasks at hand.

He worked straight through lunch and into the afternoon before he realized he hadn't been interrupted by a soldier or visited by a messenger even once in several hours. Heat crept into his cheeks as he thought over the implications of such a thing, but he resolved to let it go.

After a time, however, curiosity got the better of him. He walked to his open door and looked down the stairs to the stables only to find Malia sitting patiently at the bottom. He softly called her name, and she looked up, startled. He motioned for her to come up the stairs.

"Have you been sending people away from my office, Malia?"

She looked nervous. "I... um... yes... I thought that you might need... some... um... time?"

"Why would you think that?"

"Because of the... the way she..." Malia cleared her throat and blushed wildly. "Earlier, it sounded like the Inquisitor didn't wish to be disturbed."

Cullen willed himself to not blush as well, but it was a losing battle. It was his turn to clear his throat awkwardly.

"And the other doors? I assume they're being guarded as well?"

"I've got Harvil and Juliette on the other doors, ser."

Well, that was something at least. The advisors' three messengers might gossip with one another, but they all knew how to be discreet when it counted. He smiled at Malia.

"I wondered why I've been able to get incredible amounts of work done today. I might have to hire you three as gatekeepers more often. Leliana and Josephine must be angry with me for stealing their messengers, though."

Malia gave him a wane, hesitant smile. "We told them it was for the Inquisitor. Neither of them questioned it."

"Ah." He looked at her for another moment, then sighed. "As much as I appreciate the gesture, let me know before you take it on yourself to send people away. Understood?"

"Yes, ser." Malia blushed again and shifted on her feet before asking, "Shall we... go then?"

Cullen shook his head. "The Inquisitor was exhausted from her trip and nearly collapsed in my office. She's sleeping now, and I don't want her disturbed. If you'll stand here at the top of the stairs, you can head off those who would interrupt and also let me know if someone has a valid reason to speak with me."

He turned to go back to his office but stopped as his stomach growled loudly. Half turning back, he gave her an evaluating look.

"Did any of you eat lunch?"

"No, ser. We've been here since the Inquisitor arrived."

"Go get some food. And rotate with the others so they can find something to eat as well. I'll stand here. I need a break from the paperwork anyway."

"Shall I bring something for you, too, Commander?"

He gave her a wry smile as his stomach growled again. "Yes, thank you."

Malia bowed and took her leave. Cullen strolled along the short rampart near his door, letting the sun warm his skin. A few soldiers came by with messages, but otherwise, the afternoon remained abnormally quiet. Perhaps Malia had sent enough people away that they'd decided leave him be until tomorrow? The dwarf had cheek, he'd give her that. He couldn't say he was upset about it, though. Evana had been able to sleep, and he'd gotten more work done during the uninterrupted afternoon than he had in the past three days together.

Soon enough, Malia came back with a bowl of stew and a loaf of bread for him. He ate quickly and then sat back down to work.

The sun hovered on the horizon before he finally heard Evana stir. After a few moments, her feet appeared on the top-most rung of the ladder. She climbed down under her own power, boots mostly unlaced and armored coat hanging off her shoulder. Cullen crossed the room to greet her with a piece of bread he'd saved and some water.

"Oh! Creators bless you. I'm starving."

She tore into the bread and then took a long draw from the skin. When she'd finished, Cullen took the skin back and placed it on a nearby bookshelf before succumbing to the temptation to pull her into his arms. She hummed happily into his neck.

"Thank you for the use of your bed, vhenan. I don't feel like I might collapse anymore."

"It was a long trip for you."

She pulled back and sent him a small smile. "Yes. It was... difficult. And I missed you. Did I mention that?"

She tightened her arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss. He happily obliged, though he was careful to keep the kiss gentle. After a few moments, he pulled away and took a moment to just gaze at her.

She already looked somewhat refreshed, but a heaviness lingered in the depths of her eyes. The events at Adamant still haunted his dreams, and he knew they haunted hers as well - at least they had on that first night. He ran gloved fingers across her cheek.

"Do you... do you need to talk about anything? I'm happy to listen. I know I wasn't a very good companion to you those first few days after Adamant - too wrapped up in the battle and the aftermath - but if you need anything, I'm here now..."

She made a disapproving noise and shook her head. "Don't say that. Your presence, your arms around me those first few days were the only things holding me together. You helped me feel safe again. Cassandra helped me regain confidence. Solas helped me reclaim my dreams. Now, I just want to move past this. I'm not a Herald of Andraste, but I _am_ the Inquisitor. I won't give less of myself to the cause simply because the mark was a mistake instead of divine." She glanced away from him and then looked back uncertainly. "The only thing that worries me is... you don't think less of me, do you?"

"Think less of you?" he repeated dumbly, confused by her words.

She nodded and looked away from him again. "I know how faithful you are, and even though I didn't grow up in your Chantry, I was at least a Herald of your religion. Now, I'm just a heathen apostate with an accidental mark. You-"

Her words cut off with a murmur of surprise as he bent down to claim her lips. He took her face in his hands and urgently moved his mouth over hers while she fisted her hands into the fabric of his mantle. She opened up to him, and he nipped at her full bottom lip before delving into her mouth, tasting and stroking until they were both lost in a world of sensation.

He poured everything into that kiss. His fear of losing her. His hope for their future. His desperate need to be with her. Maker, how he loved her.

"Does that answer your question?" he asked hoarsely when he finally broke the kiss.

Her eyes opened slowly as she recovered from his assault on her lips. She bit her lip and smiled up at him.

"Yes, vhenan."

He smiled back and placed a kiss on each of her cheeks. "Good. Now let's get you some real dinner, shall we?"

She raised herself up on her toes to place another kiss on his lips, then took his hand and led him out the door to the great hall. Juliette looked up with relief as they passed by and quickly stood from her position on the bridge. Cullen smiled at her and murmured his thanks. She returned a gentle, "It is nothing." Evana looked up at him questioningly.

"What was that all about?"

Cullen just shook his head. "Oh, nothing... Mmmm... smell that? Dinner."

The corner of her mouth quirked upward. "I'll allow you to distract me from the odd site of Juliette guarding your office door, but only because I'm starving and that really does smell good."

Cullen followed her into the great hall, his heart nearly bursting with love for the woman in front of him. She was everything he didn't deserve, but Maker take him, he didn't even care.

 

**

 

During dinner, Varric and Bull had given them any number of significant looks, but with one shared look, Cullen and Evana silently agreed to let their friends think what they would. In spite of the innuendo, Bull, who had been traveling with her more recently, seemed to understand as he gave Cullen a subtle head nod.

"Well done getting her to bed," he murmured to Cullen, "and for once I don't mean in a dirty way. Although-"

"Yes, thank you, Bull," Cullen cut in quickly.

After dinner, Cullen sent her up the stairs to her own bed for another long sleep. Leliana and Josephine had agreed to postpone discussing the repercussions of Adamant until Cassandra returned, so the following day, he was free to continue catching up on his work. He knew Evana likely had mountains of paperwork to sort through as well, so he buried himself in reports and shook off moments of impatience throughout the day.

He'd had several meetings during the afternoon, and now, as darkness covered Skyhold, he began to think he might not see her at all. Despite his good intentions, disappointment seeped into his subconscious. The soldiers standing around his desk were waiting for instructions, however, so he bit back a sigh and focused on the meeting.

"Commander, what about the recent sightings of more Darkspawn in the area?"

"Rylen's troops will monitor the situation. In the meantime, we'll send soldiers to..."

The middle door from the great hall opened, and her presence washed over him. Words failed him, but only briefly.

"... assist with the relief effort," he finished.

"Yes, ser. We'll begin preparations at once."

Suddenly, it seemed incredibly important to get every one of those soldiers out of his office as soon as possible. "That will be all."

His lieutenant saluted and led the rest of the soldiers away. They nodded politely to the Inquisitor as they passed by. He followed them to the door and pushed it shut, then leaned forward against it as if trying to push them even further away. The day weighed heavily on his shoulders as he realized exactly how late it was.

"There's always something more, isn't there?" he said quietly.

"Long day?" came her quiet reply.

He loved that about her. Her voice, soft and melodic, lulled people into a sense of security. But if they crossed her, she'd hit them with all the ferocity of a great bear protecting its young.

"I shouldn't complain. This war won't last forever."

After reaching down to lock the door in front of him, he straightened and gave her a half smile before turning away to lock the other doors as well. Then, instead of moving back to her, he walked toward his desk.

All the things he wanted to say crowded into his thoughts, leaving him a jumble of feelings and emotion. Unfortunately, looking at her only led his brain further away from the right words, so he stared at the giant wood desk instead.

His mind took him back to that day in Haven as he'd stood outside the gates with Harritt. At the time, he never thought he'd have something to look forward to, something he wanted outside of steady, meaningful work. He hadn't yet let himself dream of the possibility of being with her. Now, he wanted this - her - more than anything in his life.

"When all this started, I hadn't considered much beyond our survival. But... things are different now."

"What do you mean?" she asked tentatively.

He reached his desk and turned around to face her. She'd followed him and now stood close... but not too close. His nerves obviously made her nervous, but if he touched her, if he allowed himself to hold her, the words wouldn't be said. He loved her, but he needed her to know what that meant for him. And he needed be sure of what it meant for her.

"I... I find myself wondering what will happen... after."

The vision he'd held and nurtured in his heart since their trip to Honnleath flashed before him. She had the power to crush that dream... or make it a reality. He took a step forward and finally held her gaze.

"When this is over, I won't want to move on... not from you."

He couldn't help himself. He reached out and touched her cheek with the back of his gloved hand. Her eyes pleaded with him to help her understand. His gaze faltered as a blush crept across his cheeks.

"But I don't know what you... that is, _if_ you..."

He turned away from her, partly embarrassed and partly angry that he still couldn't seem to get the words out. _How hard is it to just say... will you stay with me?_

And yet, despite what she'd said about leaving her clan behind, he didn't want to make her choose. She obviously still cared about them deeply, as evidenced by her emotional reaction to them being in danger. Perhaps she'd changed her mind. Perhaps she'd want to return to them after all. Perhaps love wasn't enough when so many things could still come between them. He fidgeted with some papers on his desk and cleared his throat.

"Ah... I mean, we've talked a little about your clan before, but I didn't want to presume..."

Suddenly, she was there squeezing herself gracefully between his body and the desk. Her small hand cupped his cheek, and a sad smile teased at the corners of her mouth.

"Cullen. Do you need to ask?"

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest, and a shy smile crept across his face. "I suppose not."

"Ma vhenan'ara," she continued in a small voice, "I will follow you until you throw me away from you. Even then, I doubt I could stay away. My heart is bound to yours, and regardless of what comes of this Inquisition, I will stay with you as long as you'll have me. I _love_ you, Cullen. To me, that means we're together. To the end."

His heart burned in denial at the idea of ever throwing her away from him. "I will _never_ want to leave you. Not in this life or the next. I would follow you to the Void and back." He leaned forward, crowding her into the desk as a surge of heat shot through every limb. "I... I want-"

She reached back to scoot further between his body and the massive desk, but her hand accidentally pushed a glass bottle from the desk. She gasped and jumped slightly at the sound of shattering glass. They both turned to look. When they turned back, he could see she was about to apologize.

He shook his head. He didn't want her apologies.

All the words had been said. He'd shared his love for her as well as his need to stay by her side, and she had returned the feeling. No, not just returned. She had promised herself to him. The words of her own fervent declaration sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine - _I will stay with you as long as you'll have me_.

And now, he just wanted... he wanted _her_.

In an instant, all his work - papers and maps and even a basket from his earlier dinner - flew through the air and scattered on the stone floor. She gasped at the action and again as he wrapped his arm around her waist to lift her onto the cleared desk. She scooted herself back, eyes wide but welcoming, and he climbed onto the desk, lips crashing into hers as he followed her down.

He'd planned slow and seductive. He'd planned to be in a comfortable place at the very least. But the way she looked at him now sent a shiver up his spine.

He'd waited before, and she'd nearly died. He couldn't wait a moment longer.

His hands cradled her head as he settled between her thighs, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. A soft moan spilled into his mouth as she rolled her hips into him, and the sound of her pleasure made his half-hard arousal twitch in anticipation.

He dove into her, lips crushing and then sucking, tongue punishing and then conciliatory. He roughly pulled at her hip, tugging her closer, even as she pulled at the glove on that hand. He allowed her to strip away the offending leather and immediately slid his fingers down her cheek and across her neck to her the V of her tunic.

Her fingers paused in their effort to free his other hand of its glove, and she moaned softly as his palm pressed down on her chest. His touch ghosted across the hot skin and slipped under the neck of her tunic. Pulling away from her mouth, he dragged his lips across her cheek to hoarsely whisper in her ear.

"Perhaps now might be a good time for me to undress you?"

Her assent was low and tremulous. "Yes, Commander. _Please_."

She arched her back in passionate abandon as he ran the tip of his tongue all the way to the point of her ear and nipped at the tip. Her hips bucked against him as she frantically clawed at the buckles and clasps of his armor.

Groaning, he sat up, quickly dispensed with the other glove and began removing more of his armor. She sat up, too, pressing kisses to his flushed jaw as she helped his shaking hands with the straps. Unable to resist, he lowered his head and caught her lips again, his concentration faltering at the renewed taste of her on his tongue.

With a few tugs from her nimble fingers, however, his vambraces, pauldrons and cuirass fell to the floor in a heap. Desire burned hotter as he settled on top of her once more. This time, he could _almost_ feel her through his clothes.

Pushing his free hand under the bottom of her loose tunic and lifting up the fabric, he leaned down to drop scalding kisses along the taut muscles of her stomach, working his way up until a final push on the fabric revealed a white, lacy breast band with front ties held by tiny hooks. While his lips brushed in erotic sweeps across her ribs, he gently tugged the end of a tie and watched the fabric loosen. Impatient, he slid his hand under the loosened fabric to cup her breast. She gasped, her hands flying into his hair as his thumb rubbed over a taut bud.

"Mmmm... Cullen... more..."

His mouth watered with wanting, and he shoved up on the breast band in a hazy desperation to taste her skin. With a breathy laugh, she pulled her hands from his hair and unhooked the laces. The breast band fell away completely, and he paused in awe.

"Maker, you're perfect," he rasped. "So perfect."

Glinting in the candlelight, his coin rested prettily between her naked breasts. She was his in spirit and mind, and soon he would have her in body as well. The thought did nothing but intensify the haze of desire that had settled over his brain.

As he stared at her in awe, he vaguely registered that her hands had moved to unbuckle his arming doublet. However, the instant he bent his head to lave his tongue over a sensitive peak, her hands flew to his shoulders and dug in. She arched into him, her voice bright with pleasure.

"Cullen! Oh, Creators... Maker... Fenedhis! Someone... holy..."

Cullen couldn't hold back the deep chuckle at her outburst, but he quickly went back to work as she arched into him again and gave a long moan of pleasure. He lifted them both to sitting position and removed her tunic fully while she pushed his doublet off his shoulders.

"Why do you wear so many clothes? I want to see you..."

As soon as she freed him from the doublet, he swept his shirt off along with it, and she hummed with pleasure. Her hands trailed fire over his chest.

"Yes, this... Cullen, I want..."

Then, for a moment, everything stopped as her fingers stilled upon his naked abdomen. Those fingers gripped at the taut flesh of his stomach, and she frowned, closed her eyes and shook her head. Her expression reminded him of that brief moment in his loft the day before.

"Evana," he called softly, suddenly concerned and a little nervous as he cupped her face in his palm. "Are you alright? We don't have to..."

Her eyes flew open. "No! I mean... yes... I want to. I just have to... had to get something out of my head."

He furrowed his brows, the concern growing into unease. "You're sure?"

At his hesitant tone, a soft smile replaced her frown. "Absolutely sure. I want you, Cullen. I love you."

She backed up her words by leaning forward to press kisses to his chest. His unease evaporated under the feel of her teeth nipping at his skin, a far more sensual act than he'd ever imagined it could be. He groaned as she drew her tongue over the sensitive skin.

It was getting harder to think. Harder to want anything but to feel her from the inside out.

He pulled in a ragged breath, and her chest heaved as he laid her back on the desk and slid his hand from her neck, between her lovely breasts, down her stomach and to the laces of her trousers. He ghosted his fingers along the waist of her breeches as he looked up at her.

"This is alright?"

"Gods, yes," she breathed. "I want to feel your hands all over me."

He needed no further encouragement. He quickly unlaced her breeches, kissing every inch of skin revealed by the parting fabric. She shimmied as he pulled, and soon, she lay before him in nothing but her lacy white smallclothes.

The sight made him pause. His trembling hand slid across her stomach, over the scrap of fabric at her hip and then down her outer thigh. She moaned, eyes closed, and her hands gripped at his shoulders.

Her skin was softer than he'd imagined. Everything was so much more than he'd imagined. He came to the end of his reach and moved his palm to the inner thigh of her opposite leg. She whimpered as his hand slid up her leg until his fingertips brushed the edge of her smallclothes at the juncture of her thigh.

"Oh... gods... Cullen..."

Her words came out low and chant-like. He watched her face as he gently slid under the smallclothes and stroked her with the backs of his fingers.

Her hips came off the desk as she cried out, and her fingers dug into his shoulder. He shuddered, partly from the exquisite pressure digging into his muscles and partly from what he found under that final scrap of clothing.

Maker, she was so wet. For him.

And then she was sitting up, her fingers pulling at his laces with all her strength. She pushed him to his back, and the heat that had begun in his chest now spread outward, up his neck, and down low in his belly as she loosened the laces.

Instead of shoving the pants out of the way, however, she leaned forward and took his lips with hers. Her hand rested on his stomach a moment before slowly inching downward. She pulled back slightly, her uneven breaths mingling with his pants of anticipation.

"You're alright?" she murmured, staring into his eyes.

"Yes," he burst out in a huff of air. "Oh, yes."

Her hand dipped lower, and he panted in earnest when her fingers slowly circled his length. Her touch burned from the inside out, and he felt almost delirious with the pleasure wrapped up in that single point of contact. She pulled him free of the tight breeches, and relief mixed with acute pleasure. Adoration erupted from his lips.

"Evana," he moaned. "That feels-"

He cut off abruptly as she gave his length a slow pump and heat seared through his body. She pumped again, this time flicking her thumb over the head and using the wetness she found to stroke him. He moaned again, his hips thrusting into her fist.

A restlessness started low in his gut, flaring with each movement of her hand - similar to when he would take himself in hand, but more intense, more mind-meltingly pleasurable. When she pressed her lips to his once more, his arms rose up to crush her to him in a mindless bid to bring her closer. He devoured her mouth, licking her lips and thrusting into her mouth with his tongue.

Her hand stilled as she concentrated on his kisses, and he took the opportunity to roll them on the desk. She came close to the edge, but he kept his arm around her waist and pulled her back to the middle. She reached for her smalls, but he stopped the movement with a hand to her wrist.

"Wait," he gasped, his breath ragged from want. "I want to do it."

She moved her arms up to rest under her head and smiled at him as she lifted her hips to make it easier. He knelt on the desk, hooked his fingers into the sides of the scrap of lace, and slowly pulled it off her body. With the final piece of clothing gone, he rested his hands on his thighs and simply drank in the sight of her.

The nights spent dreaming of this moment had never done her justice. Nothing he'd fantasized about came close to the reality of her here, naked and moaning his name... _his_ name. He looked up to see her blushing, her eyes closed and head turned to the side. Her chest rose and fell heavily, alluringly, with her ragged breaths, but he could see she was slightly embarrassed.

He took a deep breath. He was being selfish, going too fast, and getting swept away by his desire for her. He needed to slow down and bring her along with him. He would please her, even if it took every ounce of his willpower to hold himself back.

Reverently, he lifted her leg and slid both hands from ankle to calf. She sighed. His hands and mouth moved up her leg, leaving a trail of gentle caresses and soft kisses. He whispered words of adoration to her between every kiss.

"Evana... you're so... beautiful... Every part... of you..."

His mouth sucked on her inner thigh now as his hands reached under her to cup her bottom. He ached for her - ached to be inside her. But first, he needed to make sure she found as much pleasure in this night as he would.

Despite the time and distance, Cullen knew this was one thing he could do well. He would make her scream his name, and only _then_ would he take his own pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I asked, and people said they like a cliffhanger (smut-hanger), so don't blame me. Chapter 64 will be up this weekend. :)


	64. In which it's been a long time coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut pt. 2 is here with the requisite minor angst and misunderstanding... along with a whole lot of mushiness. Enjoy!

His words flowed over her like honey. Creators, how she loved this man. But even with silky murmured nothings, even with the tingling pleasure of hands and lips exploring the curves of her body, she couldn't quite shake the feeling that he deserved more. More than this, and certainly more than _her_.

Her head shouted _lies_. But in her heart...

Since her time in the Approach, she'd done her best to bury the images the Nightmare fed her in her sleep. One in particular, resurrected in the morning light of a tower loft and again at the sight of his beautiful body, kept her from fully sinking into the moment.

His concern for her hesitation, however, had helped push that image from her mind, at least for now. As his mouth and hands trailed up her legs, she sighed in restless anticipation at the drag of fingers and lips and teeth and tongue on her heated skin. His mouth on her body was almost as fantastic as the rough glide of his hands.

As he slowly perused the dips of her knee and curve of her thigh, tension radiated from him. Her earlier exploration, however brief, had drawn him tighter than a bow string, and she sensed he was holding back by the barest thread to make sure she enjoyed the moment. It made her love him all the more.

She experienced a moment of confusion as his hands slid under her bottom, lifting up her hips. She opened her eyes to look down at him, and the sight of his golden head between her legs sent a sharp throb of desire straight to her core. His gaze flicked from the juncture of her thighs to her face.

"Cullen?" she murmured, too caught up in the passion of the moment to construct a more coherent question.

His eyes held hers, and he leaned forward until... A sudden jolt of electricity arced through every limb at the brush of his mouth over her center. She gasped, her hips rolling with the intensity of the sensual touch.

"Ohhh-ooohhhhh... Do... do that again."

Cullen raised his head for a moment to smirk at her before complying, this time using the flat of his tongue in a slow stroke. She exhaled a guttural moan, her fingers digging into Cullen's hair as her head thudded onto the desk. Her chest heaved with the power of her ragged inhalations, and she could barely think. The only thing left in the world was the indescribable pleasure of his tongue, his lips, his hands.

When he reached the top, the tip of his tongue made a lazy circle around the bud that ached for his touch, deliberately avoiding contact. She whimpered, her hips rolling in his hands to chase the exquisite feeling. An instant later, his mouth moved away as he slid his hands around to link over her belly and press her hips down onto the desk. Then he bent over her again, teasing her with gentle brushes interspersed with firm caresses. His mouth drove her to new heights, but his arms kept her anchored. Already dizzy with the pleasure, she lost all control as he finally, gently sucked that aching bud into his mouth.

"C-Cullen!"

His name became a chant on her lips as his tongue did sinful things between her thighs. But his mouth sucking on her... it was almost more than she could bear. She wriggled wildly against him, unsure if she wanted to get away or press herself into him more firmly. She felt the surges of pleasure building deep inside her and moaned again.

He unclasped his hands, one arm clamping over her belly while the other hand came around to slowly slide a finger inside her. Her vision went white for a split second at the coordinated efforts of hands and mouth pushing her higher, tighter. She gasped and whimpered as the heat coiled lower and the tension wound inside her like a spring.

A second finger joined the first, slowly thrusting in and out, curling to glide along her inner walls. His tongue made slow circles around her swollen center, and her mind went fuzzy, her limbs heavy with desire. Of their own volition, her hands tightened in his hair, the pressure building higher with every flick of tongue and fingers. His lips closed around her again, and he sucked at the same moment he rubbed his fingers over that sensitive spot inside.

"Cullen... Oh... gods... _Cullen!_ "

All at once her body tensed as the slow fire turned into a raging inferno. Pleasure burned through her limbs, her hips bucking in time with the clenching of her walls around his fingers. He worked her through the climax until she gently pushed him away from her overstimulated core.

With a final smirk, he back away, cleaned himself with his tunic and came back to the desk to gather her limp, pleasure-racked body into his arms. She threw her arms around his neck, and he rested his forehead against hers.

"That was good, then?"

She laughed weakly. "Good? I've never felt anything like it. It was mind-blowing."

"Never?" he said, a touch of disbelief in his tone.

She put her forehead on his shoulder to hide the flush of red in her cheeks as she mumbled, "You're the first man to ever put his mouth on me like that."

He leaned down to kiss her neck. "Does it make me a barbarian to say I'm glad?"

She laughed again and lifted her head to look at him. "A little, but I'll allow it."

The pleasure haze began to fade, and as she gazed into his amber eyes, she suddenly realized that he was still unfulfilled. That could not stand. A sly smirk crossed her lips, and her hand slid down his chest, over his stomach and finally circled his length.

"Now, let's see if we can make things even."

"I'd like nothing better," he said through a moan, his eyes closing in pleasure, "but I think a change of venue is in order."

"Upstairs?"

At his nod, she released him, and he guided her into the same position as yesterday, She settled her legs around his waist, her core pressed against him. Reveling in his look of ecstasy, she gave a wicked roll of her hips. He dropped his head against her shoulder and moaned into her neck.

"Maker, Evana... I want you so badly."

"Then we should get up that ladder," she murmured in his ear.

He quickly turned to climb up to his loft. It seemed much easier than when he'd had on his armor, but by the time they reached the top, Cullen's body shook with need. Eager to begin pleasing him, she slid down and tugged him to the bed. As he fell on top of her, she threw her arms around his neck, pressed her lips to his and opened her legs to welcome him.

He settled between her thighs and held himself above her, and suddenly, the urgency with which they'd begun the evening returned in full force. His mouth came down on hers, all heat and possession, and his hips pushed into hers in shallow thrusts, his length gliding along her wetness. She shivered as renewed desire pulsed through her.

He groaned into her mouth when she slid her hands down his sides and back, taking pleasure in the way his muscles rippled under her touch, to finally reach between them. As soon as she positioned him, his hips rocked into her. The hot, silken tip pushed through her folds, and she gasped at the feeling.

He froze, then pulled away, his face stricken.

"I'm sorry! I..."

"Vhenan, what's wrong?" she breathed, confused and a little stung by his retreat.

His breath tore through him in heavy gasps. "I didn't mean... I don't... I don't want to hurt you."

Understanding cut through the haze of her increasing desire, and she almost made a quip about this not being her first time. Honestly, though, she _had_ sometimes wondered how she and Cullen might fit together. Even without seeing him naked, she'd felt the size of him. But his earlier care and concern for her had eased her worries. Now, she did the same for him.

"Emma lath, I'm ready," she assured him as she reached to pull him back to her. "You made sure of that. If you're worried, just go slow... or as slow as you can."

She winked at him in the dim light, and he gave a breathless laugh, his large body covering hers once more, dwarfing her lithe frame. She loved it and tried to show it with the kisses she pressed over his face and neck.

She could still feel him smiling as his lips molded over hers. This time, he reached down and positioned himself, and when he broke their kiss for a moment, he swallowed hard between ragged breaths. She reached up, threaded her hands into his hair, and pressed her lips against his once more as she angled her hips to meet him. When he didn't move, she restlessly rolled her hips causing his head to slip past her folds once more. His breath caught, and she broke this kiss to stare into his eyes.

"Fill me, vhenan," she whispered huskily.

At that, he buried his face in her neck and groaned as he slowly - oh, so _slowly_ \- pushed into her until he was fully seated. His breaths came in harsh pants in her ear, but he held himself perfectly still. For her.

She did feel a twinge of discomfort at his sheer size, but she forced herself to breathe and relax. The feeling quickly passed, replaced by the growing desire to feel him move within her, to be one with him. She rolled her hips again, and he gasped into her neck.

"Are you-"

"Yes... oh, yes," she breathed. "I need more, Cullen. Please."

And like a dam breaking loose, he withdrew suddenly and then filled her again with a quick thrust. She gasped as he repeated the movement, and he growled into her shoulder as she found and matched his quickening rhythm. They moved together, and she allowed herself to be swept away by the sounds of his pleasure and the building heat between her legs. Then he moved his mouth from her neck to her ear, and she lost all cognitive thought as waves of ecstasy shot through her.

She'd never orgasmed during intercourse before, but the way he angled himself just right as he thrust into her, the way his tongue slid across the shell of her ear to the tip, the way he reached between them to press against her with his thumb... The pressure built, and her body responded. Her breaths came in gasps as he continued to thrust into her, his pace becoming more erratic as he incrementally lost control.

Suddenly, he lifted his head away from her ear and looked into her eyes. He propped himself up with one arm, hand gently sliding behind her head while the other continued to work between them. It was the sight of his face wrapped up in his pleasure of her, of his darkened eyes staring into hers as he wildly breathed her name, that finally sent her over again. She cried out as she threw her head back and felt her walls clench around him. He wrapped both arms around her, pulling her tightly against him as he lost all rhythm. He buried his face in her neck as he gave one final, hard thrust, and his voice broke as he called out her name.

She clung to his back as the tremors ran through them both and their heavy breathing gradually slowed to manageable levels. She'd never felt anything like this. She _must_ be glowing.

Finally, he kissed her neck and then gently pulled away to collapse beside her. His arm remained draped over her waist, however, and he hummed contentedly in her ear. She turned her head to face him and found his eyes locked on her.

A slow smile spread across her face. He echoed it with one of his own.

The moment seemed too precious for words. She reached up to gently cradle his face, and after another moment, he tried to pull her to him. She laughed lightly and resisted.

"Cullen! I'll make a mess if you move me. Do you have something I could...?"

She trailed off as she watched his face morph from pleased satiety to horrified realization. Her breath caught, and he came up on his elbow and looked down at her, fear etched across every feature. Already wary of his expression, his next words froze her in place.

"Maker! I'm so sorry. I got lost in... everything." He wiped a hand down his face and shook his head. "I... didn't expect... Evana, I'm sorry."

She just stared at him. Sorry? His earlier fears she'd understood, but what could he be sorry about now? She tried to keep her voice calm and not jump to conclusions even as she felt the evidence of their lovemaking begin to trickle down her thigh. Instead of calm, however, her voice came out toneless.

"It's alright. Nothing to worry about. I can take the cloth and wash it myself if it embarrasses you. Anything will do."

Still, he didn't move. Confusion joined the fear on his face, but she couldn't wait any longer. Rolling from the bed as quickly as possible, she grabbed what looked to be a dirty tunic from a pile of clothes in a basket. She turned away from him and cleaned her thighs while trying to think of what she would say. He'd said he loved her, wanted to stay with her... why would he now be sorry for it? It didn't make any sense.

And yet...

It made all the sense in the world. She closed her eyes against the image of a red-headed warrior woman. A woman so perfect for him, it hurt her to even remember the woman's face. She let out a tiny gasp at the piercing pain that cut through her.

The candlelight from below cast an eerie glow around the loft, and she turned to look at the ladder - her escape from these awful feelings, from his sudden rejection. For what else could it be?

Rejection. Again.

Everything inside her told her to cut her losses and go. She didn't want him to merely settle for someone he was sorry for bedding two minutes after the deed was done.

But she'd already chosen to stop running. They'd spent months building up to this moment. She needed to know why he felt sorry about it now. Perhaps... perhaps it wasn't too late to fix whatever had upset him.

 _Unless... he_ wants _me to go..._

She crumpled the tunic in her hands and clasp it in front of her to hide her nakedness. When she turned to face him, she could only manage a whisper.

"If you'd rather I leave now, I can gather my-"

As still as he'd been before, he became a sudden flurry of motion when her meaning became clear. He jumped out of the bed and grabbed her around the waist, and the tunic fell to the floor as he roughly pressed her naked body against his.

"What? No! _Please_... don't go!"

His voice came out low and desperate. Despite the hurt coursing through her, her body reacted to his fumbling words and closeness. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her head in his chest. Finally, she spoke again, her voice small as she willed it not to break.

"Cullen, I'm confused. I need to understand. You..." she pushed at his chest so she could see his face. "You wanted this?"

His hand came up to cup her face. The fear was gone, replaced by an achingly sweet tenderness. A few tears escaped the tight control she'd attempted to place over the deluge threatening at the edges. She couldn't let herself be relieved. Not yet.

"So much."

"Then why would you be sorry? I wasn't what you expected? I thought..." She glanced away briefly but then forced her eyes to meet his again. "Did I not please you?"

Suddenly, recognition dawned on his face.

"Maker's breath!" He leaned down, bringing his face closer to hers and holding her chin gently but firmly. "Evana, it was better than I... than I ever could've dreamed or imagined. But I've wanted you for so long now that I simply..." He groaned and pressed his forehead to hers. "I got carried away... I meant to pull away before... so you wouldn't have to worry about carrying a child in such dark and dangerous times. I'm so sorry."

She paused a moment and just stared at his mouth.

"Evana? Is everything... Are you alright?"

The laughter that bubbled over her lips clearly wasn't what he expected. He blinked in confusion, and she shook her head.

This was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. After all he'd confessed and all they'd promised to each other... Her brow furrowed and she scrunched her nose in disgust as she realized she'd let her old fears get a hold of her yet again. When would she learn?

"I really need to stop jumping to conclusions when it comes to you," she finally murmured. "It's never what I think."

He pulled back, a question clearly on his lips, but she raised up on her toes and covered his mouth with her own before he could speak. He responded by sighing against her lips, and she allowed herself to revel in the feel of the hard muscles of his naked body pressed against her own. She wrapped a leg around him, and his hands moved to her thighs as he lifted her up again. The effortless power behind his movement thrilled her. He lifted her as if she were nothing, his muscles barely straining.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and held on tightly as her lips moved over his in a silent promise. She would work harder to think the best of him instead of letting her fear interpret his actions. And she wouldn't let him worry about something he needn't worry about. She broke the kiss to trail her lips along his cheek to his ear.

"Vhenan'ara, I may be Dalish, but I've been among you shems long enough to learn a thing or two. I will not bear a child unless I - unless _we_ \- are ready for it." She lowered her voice and whispered directly in his ear, "So you can fill me any time you like."

He released a pleased sighed into her neck as he turned back to the bed. He laid her down and covered her with tender kisses before lifting his head to look at her.

"So... you'll stay with me tonight?"

"Of course, ma sa'lath."

He smiled and then furrowed his brows slightly. "My... something love?"

"My one love." She pulled his head down to kiss his cheek. "My _only_ love."

Cullen sighed again, this time into her ear. She shuddered at the contact, and he lightly breathed into her ear again. An uncontrolled and breathy moan erupted from her.

"You said your ears are sensitive - more so than a human's ears."

"Yes. Very sensitive," she breathed.

"How much is very?"

He let his lips rest on her lobe briefly and then slid his tongue along the shell of her ear to the point. She arched into him as he held himself above her, and her hips rolled against him again. He laughed gently and took the point of her ear into his mouth and sucked.

"Cullen!"

Despite her tired muscles, the familiar heat coiled in her belly yet again. She threaded one hand into his hair and reached down to cup the tight muscles of his bottom with the other. He sighed softly and mimicked her action, kneading her flesh with his palm as he continued to mouth at her ear.

"You... ahhh... you're a bad... mmmm... mmman, Ser Rutherford... oooohhh..."

He chuckled darkly into her ear, and she arched again. She'd really tried to get through the sentence without moaning, but damn the man, he was driving her crazy. The feel of him leaning over her, his hard muscles under her fingers, his hands gliding over her skin, his mouth sending shockwaves of pleasure through her as he whispered dirty things to her under his breath while kissing her...

When he took her again much later, they came together slowly and gently. He'd switched their positions so she straddled his hips, and she set the pace as he continued to caress her body, paying special attention to her ears. It didn't take long for her to reach her peak, and he laughed breathlessly as she collapsed on top of him, breathing hard and trying to get her languid muscles moving again.

She bit him lightly on the shoulder in retaliation, but he just moaned. So, she playfully bit him again. Another laugh, hoarse from his own building desire, washed over her.

"So that's how it's going to be, then?"

He roughly took hold of her hips and pushed her up and down. She laughed at _him_ then, but quickly began moving, letting his hands guide her rhythm to what he needed. Her mouth moved across his chest, and she listened with increasing joy to the pleased sounds of her lover. His breath hitched in the most sensual way when she clenched around him, and when she slid her hands under his head and pulled lightly at his hair, he let out a low growl.

Without warning, she found herself flipped on her back as he moved urgently over her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and got lost in the breathy whispers of adoration on her neck, the harsh but sensual grip of his hand on her hip, the feel of his fingers as he threaded his other hand through her hair, the taunt muscles of his abdomen and bicep under her roving hands as he held himself up with that same arm, the extra curses he let fly when she bit at him or sucked on his chest and shoulders. She listened intently to his breathing as he approached his peak, focusing on the sounds he made, memorizing each one for future reference.

Suddenly his whispers turned into growls. This was different than the first time, much more needy and primal, and a thrill ran through her chest. The words, almost incoherent from the low gravel in his throat, finally became clear as he lost his rhythm and tensed above her.

"Mine. My love."

"Yours," she whispered in agreement.

He spilled inside her while uttering a cry of release, and she held him close, savoring the weight of his body on hers. He had not fully collapsed, but he held her tightly as he came down from his high. Finally, he raised his head from her shoulder and kissed her softly.

"That was... Maker, Evana. You are..." He sighed and rested his forehead on hers. "I have _never_ felt anything like this."

"Me, neither," she whispered softly.

"I love you. I wish I could describe to you how much..." He raised his head and let out a small sound of frustration. "I wish I were better at saying these things to you. You deserve that. You deserve someone who can shower you with love and affection, not say all the wrong things and make you feel insecure..."

"Vhenan," she whispered as she placed a finger over his lips. "Your looks, your touches, your kisses, your gifts - I've never felt so loved in all my life." She swallowed hard, forcing out the words he needed to hear. "Sometimes it's hard for me to believe a man like you would love someone like me. I let old fears get in the way... but I'm going to try to be better about that."

He just stared at her a moment before he laughed and shook his head. "I still can't believe..."

He paused, and she furrowed her brows, a half smile playing at her lips. "What?"

His face turned tender. "With all my faults and failures... that you would see me as someone of whom _you_ aren't worthy? Darling, I wake up every day terrified that you'll realize what a broken man I am. I still have a hard time believing you aren't some vivid dream. You are too amazing to be real."

Heat crept across her face as she kissed him soundly. When she broke away, he seemed dazed for a moment. His eyes opened, and they gazed at each other. Finally, he kissed her again lightly before moving to help her clean up. When he started toward the ladder, she refused to give in to the flash of fear, but she did give him a quizzical look.

"I should at least blow out the candles. Maybe build up the fire a bit," he explained. Then he waggled his eyebrows at her. "The mess of paperwork all over the floor will have to wait until morning."

Her quizzical look turned into a half apologetic one. "Sorry about that."

He shrugged and grinned at her. "It was more than worth it for the memories I'll now have of you on that desk. In fact, I'll be surprised if I'm able to get anything done tomorrow for thinking of it."

She blushed hotter as he disappeared from view. The sounds of clanking armor as he placed the various pieces on the armor stand and the crackling of the fire wafted up to the loft as she sat down on the edge of the bed. Cool air bit at her bare skin, and she looked up to see the infamous holes in his ceiling - the holes Josephine harped on him about repairing nearly every week. And every week, he deferred repairs because some other part of Skyhold needed the attention more.

The stars shone brightly through the broken roof, and for a moment, she got lost in the sight. _Building up the fire isn't going to do much good_ she thought with a small laugh as the sound of wood hitting the grate reached her ears.

She could still feel the warmth in her cheeks as the lights dimmed below. Soon, the creaking of his weight on the ladder signaled he was on his way back up. His shadow moved to place a load of things on the dresser, and then, without a word, he gathered her into his arms and slid into the bed while pulling the blankets over them both. She laughed a little as she rested her head against his chest and looked up at the stars through the hole in his roof.

"I think I like your quarters better than my own. Not only do you get to sleep under the stars, but you have plants growing up your walls. If it weren't so cold, I'd say it was perfect."

He pulled her closer, and she sighed at the feel of his warm skin against hers, their bare legs entwined. She let her hand slide lazily up and down his back as he responded.

"It's not so wonderful during rain and snowstorms, but I like the openness. It makes me feel less confined, especially..." He paused for a long moment but finally continued after a deep breath. "Especially when I wake up. Your high ceilings and giant balcony doors are nice for that reason, too."

"Well then," she laughed. "Perhaps we should switch."

She heard him swallow hard. "I'd... rather just be wherever you are."

Her heart jumped a little, and she smiled at him in the darkness. He couldn't see it, of course, so she tightened her arm around him and hummed lightly.

"Are you asking me to move in with you, Commander?"

"Rather more like asking if I can move in with you. Your bed is bigger. And further away from... everyone."

She laughed at his playful tone as joy flooded through her. He wanted them to share quarters? The idea of sharing her bed with him every night sent thrills through her stomach. However, a niggling doubt held her back from expressing her true elation.

"Will it hurt the Inquisition? I mean... I guess we're already the worst kept secret in Skyhold, but sharing quarters would make it impossible to keep things quiet."

He tensed a little bit, but his voice was calm. "I hate to break this to you, my love, but it's a bit late for that."

She laughed again and felt him relax as she lifted her head and placed several kisses all over his face. He chuckled lightly.

"I'll take that as a yes?"

"Most definitely a yes. I can't think of anything I'd like better than waking up next to you every morning, ma lath."

He tightened his hold on her and traced her vallaslin with a finger.

"Neither can I," he whispered. "You're gone and in danger so often. I just... I want to spend as much time with you as I can. We're both so busy during the day, but at night, even if we're only sleeping... well... as you said yesterday, I just want to be near you."

Her throat constricted at the emotion evident in his voice. She placed a hand over his heart and moved closer to murmur against his cheek, "You're not so bad at the saying the right thing as you seem to think, vhenan."

She felt him smile and paused to let the moment linger. Then, she cleared her throat quietly.

"It's settled then. We'll spend our nights together... wherever we happen to be at the time."

He laughed softly and sounded like he might say something more, but he interrupted himself with a giant yawn. She yawned in turn, and then they both laughed.

"We should get some sleep," she mumbled as she snuggled down against his chest.

"Hmmmm... perhaps you're right."

He pulled her closer, both arms wrapped around her small frame. Her head rested comfortably on his arm, and she felt her eyelids drooping as his warmth enveloped her. The night air settled around them, and she turned her head slightly to look up at the stars again. The familiar sight caused a twinge of sadness as she considered that she might never experience falling asleep under the stars with her clan ever again.

But the joy flowing from a well deep inside her reminded her that she would instead have her vhenan by her side, and she fell asleep smiling.

 

**

 

Evana woke a little disoriented, but with all the traveling she'd done, she quickly remembered where she was - and why she was there. They had shifted in the night, and she found herself facing broad shoulders, her arm wrapped around his middle.

A hot blush crept up her neck and over her cheeks as she recalled the night before. If she didn't have an early practice session with the Iron Bull, she might see whether she could coax some of those growls and moans from him once more. As it was, the sun threatened to peek through the windows at any moment, and the opportunity of getting back to her quarters - or, rather _their_ quarters - and then out to practice circle in time to meet Bull was dwindling.

Sitting up slowly, she lifted her arm from his waist. One more advantage being the daughter of hunters. Her mother had taught her how to move without being detected. She now used that skill to leave the bed without disturbing Cullen. Remembering he had brought something up with him last night, she moved to the dresser, shivering as the cold penetrated her naked skin. Her clothing was, in fact, piled up in a wrinkled mess on the dresser. She quickly dressed and gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed to put on her boots. As she laced them, she considered whether or not she should wake him before leaving. He got so little sleep, though. Perhaps it would be better to just come back later and tell him how adorable he looked in the mornings with his golden hair curling around his angelic face.

As she tied the final lace on her boot, however, she heard a small gasp from behind her. She turned to watch as he rolled to his back, his face contorting into a grimace of pain.

"No," he breathed. "Leave me!"

He sucked in a few panicked breaths, and before she could even place a hand on his chest in an attempt to comfort him back to peaceful sleep, he shot straight up and looked around with distressed, glassy eyes. She hovered a hand above his chest and just waited for him to fully awaken from his dream. When his gaze finally landed on her, he closed his eyes and let out a long sigh as he flopped back onto his pillow.

"Another bad dream?" she asked softly.

"They always are. Without lyrium, they're worse."

He lay there with his eyes closed for a few moments more before looking up at her again. She knew he could read the concern on her face, but she couldn't seem to mask it. He half sat up, propping himself on his elbow, and raised a hand to cup her face.

"I guess this is the first time you've really experienced that. I didn't mean to worry you."

As his hand fell from her face and slid down her arm, she mimicked his action. She pushed her fingers through his hair and smiled at him.

"You can let me worry about you a little. After all, it's what I've been doing since Haven, and I know you do the same for me."

He laughed softly. "Fair enough."

His face fell to concern as a heartbeat of silence passed between them. "You had some bad dreams yourself after Adamant. You said Solas helped you?"

He was asking about Solas. Did he mean anything by it? Or was he really just asking about her dreams? Evana felt her chest grow tight and fought back the urge to panic. He was just concerned for her.

"Yes, he walked me through the nightmares and pulled me out of them until I could resist the pull myself. The memories still... haunt me, but at least I can sleep now."

She gave him a wry grin, but the pained look on his face remained. His next words confirmed her suspicions that he was simply concerned for her.

"I'm sorry I didn't understand - that I didn't see you were having trouble right away. That first night, when you woke from the nightmare, I should have asked you about it then."

She shook her head. "Please, don't do that to yourself, Cullen. We were both exhausted, barely awake, and running on little to no sleep. You were concerned about my physical injuries at the time. In the days after the assault, my companions talked me through my fears. And Solas helped me break the demon's hold on my dreams..."

His eyes widened, his voice edged with a new concern. "The demon? What demon? The one from your report?"

"Yes, the nightmare demon. Solas isn't sure how it managed to gain such a hold over my Fade walking, but he thinks it has something to do with the anchor."

"I didn't realize..." He trailed off, his brow furrowing in distress. "So, the dreams were caused by the demon you fought in the Fade?"

"Partially. It is a fear demon, after all. I was emotionally... unstable after our physical walk in the Fade, so I likely would've had nightmares anyway. But the demon had seen all my deepest fears and used them against me when I slept. The dreams became more intense, and with the demon's hold, I couldn't escape them like I can a regular nightmare when I'm Fade walking. No matter where I went in Thedas, the nightmare found me because of the anchor."

"The anchor draws demons?"

His voice held clear and ringing notes of panic. She was a mage, and she had a magical mark that drew demons to her. If anything could terrify him, it was this.

"I still have to allow them in, Cullen. You know I would _never_ do that. Solas said the nightmare's hold was not like possession. And even that hold is now broken. I promise."

Despite her words, fear radiated from him as he pulled her back down on the bed with him. She wrapped her arms around him, and he around her. His heart beat wildly in the ear now pressed against his chest, and she breathed deep and slow in an attempt to control her own emotions. She knew she was in no greater danger of possession than she'd been at any other point in her life, but how could she convince him?

She sighed to herself as she realized the truth: She couldn't convince him. He either trusted her or he didn't. She allowed him to hold her a moment more before she rested her lips against his and then pulled away.

"I have to meet Bull this morning for training. I'll try to stop in later... if that won't be too much of a bother?"

He gave her a wan smile. "Not at all. I always have time for you."

Sliding out of the bed and toward the ladder, she heard him sigh as he flopped back on the pillows. Once again, the reality of her position as a mage had driven a wedge between them on what should have been a wonderful morning. Would this ever get easier? Would they ever be able to simply acknowledge and move on? She couldn't blame him for being afraid, not after everything he'd seen and experienced, but she also didn't know how to reassure him because, in truth, there was always some level of danger.

She reached the lower level and was pulled from her thoughts by the state of Cullen's office. They had made an absolute mess. As she stood surveying the damage with quirked eyebrows and pursed lips, images of the previous night flooded her mind again, and she felt a warmth bloom in her chest.

If they could just hold on to _that_ feeling, maybe everything would turn out alright in the end. And maybe a little levity would diffuse the heaviness surrounding them now.

"It's a bit of a mess down here, Commander. I'm surprised at you. You're usually so clean and organized."

She heard the floorboards creak above her as he left the bed. She walked over and began picking up the papers strewn all over his floor. His voice echoed from the loft, mimicking her teasing tone as he let out an exaggerated and sarcastic laugh.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. You know exactly what happened down there, Inquisitor. And if you're not careful, I might be tempted to organize a repeat."

"Hmmmm... I should be so lucky."

The creaking continued, and finally she saw a bare foot appear on the ladder. He climbed down, breeches and a loose tunic covering his previously naked body. His gloriously naked body. She heard herself hum aloud and blushed at how hungry she still was for him, even after all they'd done the night before.

"You would be, yes, but that's beside the point. You were just as responsible for the mess as me. If you hadn't broken that bottle..."

"You would have what?"

"I would have carried you upstairs, undressed you slowly and made love to you even more slowly. All without making a mess of my desk."

As he approached, she handed him the papers she'd gathered so far and quirked an eyebrow at him. "Been thinking about this a lot, have you?"

He threw the papers on his desk without looking at them and wrapped his arms around her. She loved these moments when the cool, confident Cullen appeared. His awkwardness was adorable, and she loved it. But this persona - the one he adopted when they were teasing each other - sent blissful little shivers up her spine. His voice was low and sultry as he caught and held her gaze.

"Mmmm... you have no idea, my dear."

"Well, there's always tonight, or the next night... or the next... we've got time, Commander."

He broke character to smile at her sadly. "I wish that were true. But we'll make the most of what we've got. I think tonight, however, I'll join you in your quarters."

She leaned up to kiss his chin and then his mouth as he tilted his head down. " _Our_ quarters."

He flushed slightly, but he didn't break eye contact. "I'll join you in _our_ quarters, then."

"Good. Hopefully I'll see you before then, though. Now you'd better get this mess cleaned up before the messengers start showing up."

"Yes, my lady," he said with a formal bow and a cheeky grin.

She laughed, waving at him one last time as she unlocked and slipped out the middle door to clean up before her session with Bull.


	65. In which wavering faith falls short

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana struggles with the aftermath of Adamant and the murky information regarding the Divine... in between teasing Cullen about his sudden good mood. And in spite of it all, a softer side of the spymaster emerges.
> 
> Also featured: In which Bull schools yet another advisor on their Inquisitor's virtues.

Leliana pulled the scrap of paper from Baron Plucky's leg, absently stroking a finger down her favorite raven's throat as she scanned Cassandra's latest report. The Seeker's caravan had dropped off the remaining contingent of chevaliers at Halamshiral, and the smaller group of Inquisition soldiers were now making much better progress across Orlais than before. Another two days and the Seeker would be back in Skyhold. Then Leliana could talk with her about what she'd seen in the Fade.

Leliana had spoken with Varric three nights ago - in her quarters to keep prying eyes and ears at bay. He'd insisted on drinking, so she knew whatever he was going to say would be difficult for him. He told a disturbing story devoid of the usual elaboration - more descriptive than his original report, but no less mysterious.

In short, they didn't know. The spirit had refused to acknowledge whether it was a reflection of the Divine or actually contained an aspect of the Divine.

Leliana growled in frustration. Why didn't the spirit just tell them what it was? How it came to take on the form and personality of the Divine?

"Something wrong, Sister Leliana?"

At the sound of Harvil's voice, Leliana sighed internally and turned to her messenger. "Please let Josephine, Cullen and the Inquisitor know that Cassandra, Dorian and Cole should be back in Skyhold within two days."

"At once, m'lady."

Harvil scurried out of the room, and Leliana sat down to stew in her thoughts. Her talk with Varric had left her with more questions than answers. One thing they knew for certain, however. The Divine was truly dead, and their Herald was not really a Herald.

No doubt Josie had already drawn up contingency plans for how they would handle the political ramifications, but Leliana was still stuck on what it meant for her personally. She'd let herself believe that perhaps they'd found someone marked and chosen by the Maker. Now they knew the Inquisitor was no more special than Leliana herself.

A freak accident. A twist of luck.

She rested her elbows on her desk and propped her chin on her clasped hands. She simply _had_ to know what Cassandra thought of all this. The Seeker was the most faithful person Leliana had ever met. Cullen was faithful, too, and Josie, of course, but during Seeker training, Cassandra had spent a full year in meditation and contemplation of the Maker and His ways. Her report had been thoughtful but carefully written to separate facts from her own sparse conjectures. How much more might she have to say now, after weeks of contemplation on the events of Adamant?

Perhaps Leliana was going about this all wrong, though. Perhaps she ought to talk to the Inquisitor instead. Evana was Dalish and didn't even believe in their Maker. She'd never believed she was their Herald in the first place... had she?

Lifting her head, Leliana picked up the missives in front of her once again. She had work to do, and she wasn't about to disturb the Inquisitor on such a personal matter. After two months away, the elf was likely buried in paperwork...

Shouts rose up from the courtyard below, and Leliana smiled. It was good to hear the sounds of life and work returning to the fortress. Skyhold had been eerily quiet since the soldiers and companions had left for Adamant.

A smaller, gravelly voice responded in a decidedly foreign language, and Leliana frowned and turned her body toward the open balcony door. That sounded like... elven. Then the unmistakable yelling of excited soldiers greeted her ears.

Leliana jumped out of her chair, swept out to the balcony and leaned over the parapet. Below, she could make out the forms of Bull and the Inquisitor circling each other with swords. Bull had a great ax, and the Inquisitor a much smaller, elven-looking thing, no doubt Harritt's handiwork. They circled each other under the watchful eye of Evana's trainer, Commander Helaine, growling insults - or what she assumed were insults - in their native languages. Did the Inquisitor even understand Qunlat?

After a few minutes of watching the Qunari handily beat up on their fearless leader, Leliana chastised herself for wasting time. Just as she moved to turn away, Evana struck a nasty blow on Bull's ass with the flat of her sword and the roar of the soldiers echoed loudly around the stone walls of the fortress. More doors and windows opened around her.

Maybe just a few more minutes, then.

A glint on the battlements across from her caught her attention, and she saw Cullen had joined in watching the two spar. He relaxed against the parapet, clearly with no intention of stopping the action below, and Leliana wondered at the change in him. Always serious, always dutiful, this used to be exactly the kind of thing he would discourage unless he could derive some sort of lesson from it.

But the display below was merely a lesson in sword technique for their Inquisitor. No tactical benefit could be derived from it for most of these more experienced soldiers. And yet Cullen just leaned against the battlements, watching. She couldn't see if he had a smile on his face, but she'd bet the new shoes Josie had brought her from Val Royeaux that he did.

The man drove her crazy with his stubbornness, but he'd been much more bearable since he and Evana had confessed their mutual attraction. In fact, he'd been almost pleasant lately. They still disagreed more often than not - him demanding to use force on things that would be much better suited to secrecy or diplomacy - but at least he now grudgingly acknowledged the benefit of subterfuge, even if he still despised it. And she in turn would occasionally admit that spy work could have its downsides. All in all, they understood one another better these days. It was nothing short of a miracle, and they could thank their Inquisitor for much of it.

Leliana looked back down at the tiny elf still circling the giant Qunari. An air of fearlessness surrounded her in that moment, and even though Leliana had seen firsthand that Evana was most definitely afraid of a great many things, Leliana found herself believing this elf could accomplish anything. The key was that Evana pushed through her fears and did the job anyway.

She failed sometimes. At the Winter Palace, they had lost a couple of potential noble allies because of her inexperience. But she'd kept trying and eventually won the evening - and secured Orlais in the process. Would they have succeeded at Adamant without the chevaliers? Possibly. Cullen was a consummate military commander and strategist. But they'd lost far fewer people than she'd imagined possible due to the assistance of Celene's troops.

Even if she weren't a Herald of their Andraste, she was a good leader. Because of a tiny, reticent Dalish elf, they had a chance at ending Corypheus.

Perhaps the Maker was more involved in this than she'd thought.

The strangely fearsome sound of Evana shouting at Bull in elven sent chills up Leliana's spine, and she looked down to see that Bull had caught the elf in a headlock.

_Maybe not so reticent all the time, then._

In a flash of movement, the Inquisitor wormed her way out of Bull's grip and rushed to grab her sword from where it had fallen to the ground. Bull just laughed as he shook out his hand. She must have used a pressure point to loosen his grip. Leliana sucked in through her teeth. She knew from experience how much that could hurt. Bull didn't seem to mind, though, and picked up his ax for another round.

"I should really get back to work," she admonished herself under her breath.

She reluctantly turned back around and closed her door. The sound would only serve as a distraction. She needed to focus on the information Josie had brought to her about the House of Repose.

Leliana knew of the assassin group and highly respected their methods, but no one - _no one_ \- threatened her best friend. Josie insisted she be allowed to handle things diplomatically, but that didn't mean Leliana couldn't work in the background to mitigate the risks. She'd already increased security on Josie's office and quarters and implemented stricter regulations on who they allowed in and out of Skyhold, but Josie wouldn't allow her to out-and-out refuse any nobles.

So Leliana regarded every carriage, every horse and wagon, every pilgrim seeking asylum as a would-be assassin in disguise. She needed to speak with The Iron Bull again. He was otherwise engaged at the moment, however, so she continued reading through the reports from her agents that had come in overnight. An hour later, Harvil returned after delivering her message to the Inquisitor.

"Did you get lost on your way back?" she asked, biting back a smile.

Harvil blushed and stuttered through an apology about waiting for the Inquisitor to finish her lesson. His charming brogue made it impossible to be angry with him, however, and she merely hummed in disbelief as she gave him a slight smile.

"I found myself stopping to watch a moment as well. It's been quiet around here lately. Nice to have a little action again."

"Yes. Thank you, Sister." Harvil shifted on his feet, cleared his throat, and then continued, "The Commander and Lady Montilyet both asked about convening a war council in the meantime to review items the Inquisitor missed while away. Lady Montilyet in particular has a few inquiries that require the Inquisitor's input. ‘The sooner the better,' were her words."

Leliana nodded. "Yes, tell them we will convene as soon as the Inquisitor is ready. Stop at Josephine's first and have her send Juliette to summon the Inquisitor. At her leisure, of course."

Harvil saluted and took off again. He returned in less than ten minutes.

"I met the Inquisitor on her way through Solas' office. She will be ready in a half hours' time. The other advisors have been informed."

"Very good. Thank you, Harvil. Please tell The Iron Bull that I would like to speak with him when I am done with the war council."

Leliana gathered up her papers and made her way down to the great hall to review and update her makers on the map. Josie sat at her desk as usual, scribbling on several papers all at once. She looked up and smiled at Leliana in acknowledgement and then returned to her papers. Passing through the hallway to the war room, Leliana thought for the thousandth time that they really needed to fix that hole in the wall if only to reduce the chill in Josie's office.

For the next half an hour, she poured over the map. She'd updated her portion and begun working out the details of a couple of missions for her agents when she heard the hallway door open and heavy footsteps approach. A few moments later, Cullen joined her in the room.

"Leliana."

His tone held a lightless she'd never heard from him before. She peered at him through narrowed eyes. The ever-present dark smudges still circled his eyes, his armor still hung too loose on his frame, and his skin had only begun to recover from the ugly pallor of a severe withdrawal episode.

But the smoothness in his brow and the spring in his step spoke volumes. That along with word from her agents that the Inquisitor had emerged from Cullen's quarters early that morning wearing yesterday's clothes made it easy to guess the reason for his good mood. The two lovebirds had, after all, been separated for many weeks. She smirked at him.

"Ah, Cullen. How are you feeling today?"

His expression turned wary, but he responded nonetheless. "Excellent, thank you."

"That is good to hear." She nodded, but then paused and tilted her head in affected thoughtfulness. "Though perhaps you are a bit tired from your night of _strenuous activity_ , no?"

"For the love of the Maker!" Cullen blurted before sighing and turning his exasperated gaze on her. "Can we not?"

She arranged her features into the picture of innocence and raised her hands. "Whatever do you mean?"

He sighed again, this time from behind his hand as his index finger and thumb kneaded his temples. A telltale crimson flush spread all the way to the tips of his ears, confirming what she already knew.

"Nevermind," he muttered.

"What? I think it's sweet. You two certainly took quite a long time to tumble into bed together, but-"

"Andraste preserve me! Leliana, _please_."

He dropped his hand from his face and gave her a hard look. Leliana laughed at him but decided to leave further teasing for when the Inquisitor arrived.

She turned back to the map, and after a moment, Cullen joined her at the table. He touched his marker in Wycome before turning away to review and make changes based on updates from his officers. Leliana absently reviewed her plans as she considered the meaning of that small touch.

Despite all evidence that his lieutenant had things under control, Cullen clearly worried about what might happen in Wycome. Early on, he'd even expressed a desire to go himself. They'd talked him out of it, of course - they could hardly afford for him to be gone again so soon after Adamant - but she knew his concern for Clan Lavellan was more for Evana's sake than for the good of the Inquisition.

She swallowed, her thoughts veering toward another elf, one whose lengthy absence fed the festering wound in her soul. After a few minutes of silence, Leliana spoke again in a softer tone.

"I know what it is to be separated from your love. I mean no harm with my teasing. You... you are good together, you and Evana, and I pray for many years of happiness for you both."

She looked up to find Cullen staring at her, mouth slightly agape. Finally, he snapped his jaw closed and glanced away. He then looked back at her, clearing his throat.

"Thank you. That is kind of you." He leaned up and shuffled his feet a moment before adding. "I wish the same for you. I can't imagine what it must feel like to be separated from your love for so long."

She braced herself for the inevitable questions. But they never came. She'd expected a tentative inquiry at least, but Cullen only gave her a small smile and a subtle nod of sympathy. She smiled up at him, her expression radiating gratitude.

"Thank you. It is hard. But... I..."

She tried to get the words out. _I have faith_. They wouldn't come. Cullen's hand on her shoulder startled her. He looked at her with reassurance in his eyes, and she was relieved to find his gaze held no hint of pity.

"She will return to you, Leliana. If she's anything like I remember, she's strong. And she has your love to keep her focused."

To her surprise and consternation, Leliana's eyes burned with the sting of sudden tears. His tone held so much conviction - as ridiculous as it seemed, the words soothed her hurt.

She nearly laughed aloud at her foolishness. She'd only meant to show him a small measure of friendliness, and now she was fighting the urge to turn and cry on his shoulder. Maker's breath, how long had it been since she'd indulged in a good cry?

She leaned up from the table and took a deep breath. Cullen's hand slid off her shoulder as she smiled and tilted her head at him in acknowledgment. They stayed that way for a moment longer before Cullen returned her head tilt and bent over the map once more. Leliana just stared at his back as she ran over the interaction in her head. Where had this kinder, more open commander come from? Evana must be affecting more than just his mood.

Finally, Leliana shook herself out of her reveries and got back to work. A few minutes later, the door opened again, and Josie and Evana walked in. Leliana surreptitiously watched the small but significant look exchanged by the lovers and nearly blushed at the heat in it. Oh, the two of them were in deep.

Oblivious to the scene playing out before her, Josie took her normal place next to Cullen and began at once. Leliana smothered a grin as she caught Cullen's eye, and he flushed pink. Josie was speaking, though, so she tabled the teasing in favor of business.

"Inquisitor, much has happened in your absence. We have dealt with all we could, but many items require your input. We should start with updates." She flipped to the front page of her clip board. "As you know, we have sent troops to Wycome at the Commander's suggestion and with your approval. Cullen?"

Cullen nodded. "I received word from Lieutenant Rozellene that they are on their way to Wycome. Work on fortifications will began as soon as the troops arrive, and the lieutenant has been working out strategies for defending the city from the maps Leliana provided... if it comes to that. I hope that Lady Volant will render our plans useless. Regardless, I have no doubt of our success."

Leliana watched the Inquisitor's face closely. Evana had looked a little surprised at the mention of Rozellene. Now, however, she smiled and nodded.

"Excellent. I am confident in Lieutenant Rozellene's abilities. Thank you for your quick and effective action, Commander. Now, we just need to wait and see what the nobles decide to do."

"Jester has been keeping track of the noble's movements since they left Wycome," Leliana added. "They will most certainly march. I cannot determine at the moment whether they will be properly impressed by our forces, though. All we can do it pray to the Maker for no further bloodshed." Leliana looked at Evana and then suddenly added, "Or to the Creators."

Evana regarded her curiously, but a small smile played around the elf's lips. She nodded her head at Leliana and then looked back to Josie; however, it was Cullen who spoke next.

"As the subject of the Lieutenant has come up-"

"Oh! Yes, quite right." Josie flipped through her clipboard and pulled out a piece of parchment with the seal of the Inquisition at the bottom. "Inquisitor, due to the increase in the size of our forces, Cullen has requested the addition of another captain. He has suggested Lieutenant Rozellene be promoted. The request outlines her qualifications. Leliana and I have no objections. It only requires your signature to be made official."

Evana held out her hand to Josie. "Well, then. What are we waiting for? I'll sign it right now."

Josie came around the table and placed her pen in her inkpot. Evana took the pen and signed her name. Leliana watched the Inquisitor send a smile at Cullen and him return it with a head tilt.

There was more to that story. Leliana had no time to suss it out, but perhaps she'd sic Sera on it.

Josie moved on, and they began discussing their next moves. Leliana assured the others that her spies were even now tracking Corypheus' forces. He was down one army of mages and another army of demons. His remaining forces had scattered for a time, but the red templars were beginning to regroup. She turned to Cullen, intent on growing their camaraderie.

"I have not asked in a while. How goes the hunt for Samson?"

Cullen sent her a half smile, seeming pleased by her solicitude. "We're close. I know it."

"If I can help you any further..."

"Thank you." Cullen tilted his head toward her. "I plan to dig into the letters the Inquisitor brought back from the Emprise this afternoon. I will let you know what I find."

Leliana nodded, and they moved on to other matters. None of them, however, brought up the one thing they all wanted to talk about. They'd agreed to wait for Cassandra, and so they would. As the meeting ended several hours later, Evana turned to Leliana.

"I need to speak with you sometime today if you have a moment."

Leliana couldn't quite hide her surprise at the specific request. Typically, their leader simply stopped in when she had time.

"Of course. I will be in my office for the remainder of the afternoon. Stop in any time."

Evana nodded and turned to walk out of the war room with Josie. Leliana followed them, but was stopped by the sight of Harvil just outside the door.

"Yes, what is it?"

"This message came in for you, Sister Leliana. It was marked as urgent, so I thought..."

"Yes, very good. Dismissed."

Harvil saluted, and Leliana moved to the side of the hall to read the letter. The note was from one of her agents in Val Royeaux.

_Sister Nightingale,_

_We have located the asset. It is well guarded, but not impossible to reach. We await your instructions._

_Alinn_

Leliana folded the letter and swept down the hallway in time to hear Josie talking of the exact subject she wanted to discuss.

"... tracked down the last Du Paraquettes. If they become gentry, they can annul the contract on my life. We'll require a noble from Val Royeaux to sponsor them, a judge to provide documents, a minister to ratify them-"

"It's so like you to take the longest course of action," Leliana interrupted. "Even when your own life is at stake!"

Josie sighed as she turned to Leliana. "I assume you have been looking into this mess with the contract."

As she leaned down to rest her hands on Josephine's desk, Leliana exchanged glances with Evana. "Of course. And there is a faster way, Josie. The original contract on your life is in the vaults of the House of Repose. If my agents infiltrate it and destroy the original, the assassin will have no obligation to chase you."

"Leliana, please! I want no more blood shed over a personal affair."

Leliana huffed and pushed up from Josie's desk. "Don't be so stubborn, Josie! How long will it take you to gather these favors in Val Royeaux?"

Evana stepped forward. "If we can solve this without further deaths on either side, I think we should try."

Leliana pursed her lips in disapproval. Why should they care about preventing more deaths when Josie's _life_ hung in the balance? She exhaled heavily and tempered her response.

"My people are ready should you change your mind. I've posted watches on you in case the House of Repose decides to pay us a visit."

Josie reached out her hand, and Leliana shook her head but took the ambassador's hand all the same. Josie's voice and smile were designed to be soothing, and she wasn't their master diplomat for nothing.

"I appreciate everything you're doing, Leliana, but I still believe elevating the Du Paraquettes will solve this."

Leliana said nothing and gently pulled her hand away, leaving the Inquisitor and ambassador to continue discussing their plans. Josephine's plan was nothing less than foolish, but Leliana simply couldn't argue with her best friend. If they all made it out of this unscathed, Leliana would be amazed.

She stopped by the kitchens for a late lunch and then headed back to her office. War councils always sapped her strength. She considered a bit of training to renew her energy, but then remembered that Bull and the Inquisitor would both be coming to visit her this afternoon.

_An afternoon dedicated to more paperwork, then._

A few hours later, Leliana heard Bull's voice greet Solas in the rotunda below. She rearranged her desk to hide all sensitive documents and then waited for The Iron Bull to appear. He emerged from the stairs, and she motioned him to the balcony outside her office.

"Thank you for coming, Bull."

"Not a problem, Red. I take it you have news about Ruffles."

Leliana smiled. "I find it endearing that you've adopted many of Varric's fanciful nicknames."

"Enhances the Tal-Vashoth persona," Bull said with a shrug.

"Yes," Leliana said with a snort. "I suppose it does. I appreciate your candor as well as your detailed report on the incident in Val Royeaux, by the way. The minutia was immensely helpful in locating the contract."

"Ah, you've pin-pointed the location. So, what can I do for you now?"

"Unfortunately, Josephine has decided to continue with her very long and complicated plan to mitigate the contract on her life. In the meantime-"

"The House of Repose sends assassins to end her life. Got it. We need to make sure Josie stays alive until she can get through her plan."

"Exactly. It's not ideal. I'd much rather destroy the contract. But the Inquisitor is supporting Josie's plan. And so must we."

"Seems like a lot of work for not much payoff."

Leliana sighed. "Too true. But Josie wants to avoid more bloodshed. And the Inquisitor, as you know, would never argue with that."

Bull raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. The action, however, intrigued Leliana enough to pursue the line of questioning.

"You don't agree?"

Bull looked away for a moment. When his singular gaze returned to hers, it held a deadly seriousness she didn't often see under his Ben-Hassrath bluster.

"You read the reports. You hear the stories. But you're not out there with us. You don't see what she does - the shit she has to deal with - to stay on track and keep the Inquisition moving forward. I'm a tool for massacre. I was bred and built to kill. But she... she was trained to protect. To lead her clan someday. All that training isn't for nothing." He leaned forward slightly raising the brow over his good eye. "Never doubt that she will kill every last person who threatens those she cares about. She's not going along with Josephine's plan because she's soft, Red. She's doing it to please Josephine."

Leliana swallowed and looked away from Bull. "I see."

Bull let out a small laugh. "Don't get me wrong, she's still merciful when she can be. And she'll avoid violence as long as possible. I'm just saying she isn't afraid to make the hard choices, which is why she was your best... if not your _only_ choice for Inquisitor. She balances the need for violence with the need for soft words and gentle smiles. It's what makes her a good leader. It's what she's been training to do almost her whole life. I'm just glad you all recognized it."

Leliana's own thoughts came back to her forcefully - _she pushes past her fears to get the job done_. She'd admitted to herself that she admired that about Evana only a few hours ago.

"You sound decidedly un-Qunari right now," Leliana grumbled.

Bull let out a growl. "Ugh. I know. Don't remind me. Too much time among the unenlightened."

Leliana sighed and relented a little bit. "I suppose I tend to forget her strengths too easily. She just..."

"Prefers the best route over the easiest."

Leliana let out a small sound of pain. "Ouch."

"No offense, Red. I'm the same way. We who love mayhem always are."

"I... yes... Yes. Thank you, Bull. You have given me much to think about."

He waggled his eyebrow at her. "You come down to the tavern and have a drink with me sometime. We'll wax philosophic, and you can try to convert me to your Maker."

Leliana pulled herself out of her thoughts long enough to laugh at his teasing. "I'll have to do that-"

"Hello?"

Evana's voice filtered out to them from the rookery. Leliana stuck her head inside a moment to call to her, and soon, the subject of their previous conversation joined them outside.

"Well, well. What are my spymaster and Ben-Hassrath companion up to?"

Leliana and Bull looked at each other for a split second before Bull responded. "Just trying to figure out how to keep our ambassador alive long enough to elevate a family to nobility and negate a contract on her life."

Evana sighed and moved to rest her hands on the railing. "Yes. She wishes to do this her own way. I will admit I'm half tempted to simply send your agents to the House of Repose anyway, especially after hearing what this will entail, but..."

Leliana glanced at Bull again, then responded. "But it's what she wants. I understand. I'll do whatever I can to help."

Evana flashed her a grateful smile, but the smile quickly died on her lips. "That's not what I came to speak with you about, though."

Bull cleared his throat. "That's my cue to get back to the tavern. Lemme know if you need anything else, Red."

"I will. Thank you again, Bull."

Bull nodded to them both and headed back into the rookery. Leliana turned to face Evana, but she was looking out across Skyhold once more. Leliana joined her. They stood in silence for a moment before Evana's tentative voice cut through the quiet bustle of the courtyard below.

"I came to speak with you about... Adamant."

"I thought as much."

Evana smiled again, but this smile didn't reach her eyes before fading once more. She said nothing, however. Leliana merely gestured toward the rookery and began speaking to fill the silence as they walked inside.

"Hawke sent me one final report. She is headed to Weisshaupt. I'm sure we'll hear from her again when she returns. As for the Grey Wardens, they are fighting demons and red templars while staying clear of Venatori. You dealt Corypheus a significant blow, Inquisitor."

Leliana paused to look over the balcony to the library and Solas' study below. She turned to find Evana looking at her thoughtfully.

"The Grey Wardens carry respect in other nations, do they not? If we spread word that the Inquisition has their support..."

Leliana let out a short laugh, berating herself for being surprised by their Inquisitor's perceptiveness. "Yes, I see. We may gain standing with nations that suffered under the Blight. I will take the matter to Josephine." She took a step back and regarded Evana with concern. "While you bested Corypheus here and at Halamshiral, he himself was not present either time. We fear he is closer to finding another way to enter the Fade."

"I fear that, too," Evana admitted. "But you said in the war council that we are watching his movements?"

"As soon as we know anything, we will update you."

Evana nodded and looked away once more. Leliana could stall no longer. She leaned forward.

"What was she like? Divine Justinia... or her soul... or the spirit that took her form. I read your report. I know it isn't clear, but..."

Her voice came out soft, and she cursed her emotional response. Evana, however, seemed grateful for the introduction of the subject.

"She seemed... calm. Serene, even. And she guided us the whole way through. We likely wouldn't have made it out without her. Certainly not with so few... casualties."

Leliana turned away and leaned heavily on the railing. "That does sound like her."

Evana glanced away and then back to Leliana. "She asked me to tell you something. She said, ‘I'm sorry. I failed you, too.'"

Leliana's heart dropped, and the resulting "Oh!" that escaped her lips sounded far too heartbroken to her own ears. She pushed away from the railing and shook her head, but she didn't look up at Evana.

"I should finish my work before it slips my mind," she said firmly before softening her voice once more. "But, perhaps later we might... discuss the matter further?"

She looked up to find a calm but compassionate expression on Evana's face as the elf murmured, "Of course."

Leliana nodded and walked back to her desk as Evana headed for the stairs. Leliana almost called her back but kept silent in the end. She needed to process. And she'd need either a practice dummy or an evening in the chapel to do it. She would speak with Evana some other time - _after_ speaking with Cassandra.

Sitting down, she got back to work. She'd already waited several weeks. What were two or three more days? She just had to keep herself busy enough to not think about it.

Two minutes later, she got up and headed for the practice grounds.


	66. In which rivals strike a tentative truce

The words swam before his eyes as Cullen tried to read the final letter from the Emprise. His stomach lurched, and for the first time in ages, it had nothing to do with lyrium withdrawal.

The day had started well - waking up after a blissful night with Evana, morning exercises with the soldiers, a moment of understanding between himself and Leliana and a productive war council.

But the cold-blooded words scraped into parchment shredded his veneer of peace like shards of glass. Corypheus led the drumbeat of war with demons and corrupted templars, and the Inquisition had risen up to oppose his forces. But the casualties weren't just the soldiers who had already pledged their lives to the cause. When soldiers waged war, regular people - the little people as Sera would call them - suffered just as much.

Cullen pushed the letters away and stood to pace. He'd taken to pacing during his time in Kirkwall. When he couldn't sit any longer but still had things to do, pacing helped him work off restless energy and get focused again. Now, it also helped work out stiffness in his limbs after a more serious episode... and deal with the horror of reading a first-hand account of Samson's plans.

He continued pacing when the door opened. He looked up to find Evana entering silently, as she always did. He tried to return her smile but found he couldn't.  
  
"I've been reading the letters you found in the quarry," he began without preamble, his voice rising with each word. "Samson is making red lyrium from _people_?"

Evana shook her head and wrapped her arms around her middle. "Not anymore. Not in that mine. Or anywhere else if I can help it. It's not the first time I've seen that, but I never want to again."

A vague memory surfaced of Evana's report from Redcliffe - of a red lyrium encased Grand Enchanter - and he let out a small growl. Clearly, they hadn't understood what she'd seen. Not fully.

But Evana had known. She'd _seen_. And she'd collected another shard of pain for her trouble. Pain she'd buried instead of sharing, even when she'd broken down all those months ago. Perhaps she'd hoped this aspect of that dark future that wouldn't come true if only she buried it deep enough?

"I am so sorry, Evana. I knew Samson had fallen, but this? It's monstrous! We _have_ to put an end to him." Cullen finally stopped pacing, leaned over his desk and waved a hand over the scattered papers. "Look at these orders from the encampment - his special red lyrium armor must give Samson _extraordinary_ power. We..." He paused, not wanting to speak his fears aloud, but then continued in a subdued voice. "We may not be able to stop him."

Evana rounded his desk to place a hand on his shoulder. "Don't lose hope, Cullen. Take away his special armor and the lyrium, and Samson's just another man."

"Yes... but I couldn't say how. Templars are trained _not_ to destroy expensive magical equipment." He sighed and turned his head toward her. "Perhaps Dagna has some ideas? She crafts the impossible every day."

Evana's eyes brightened at the suggestion. "That's a good idea. Would you like me to go?"

He covered her hand on his shoulder with his own and finally gave her a half smile. "No, no. I'll go. I need to get away from this desk for a moment, anyway... unless..." He stood up from the desk and caught her around the waist. "Unless you have a better idea of how I could take a break?"

She grinned up at him. "I might."

He leaned in, inhaling the fresh scent of crystal grace and elfroot. She must have bathed this morning after her workout with Bull. An image of her sparring this morning followed quickly by one of her bathing pushed the horrors of the past few hours from his mind, and he closed the distance between them.

The spark lit in his gut at the first pull on her perfect mouth. After months of longing, he had finally tasted her sweetness, but instead of satisfying him, he only craved her more. He gently nipped at her bottom lip, and the soft and inviting curve reminded him of other soft and inviting curves that could do with a bit of exploration. Just as he deepened his possession of her mouth with a swipe of his tongue, a jiggle of the door handle dashed his greedy hopes.

"Commander, I have a report- oh, I beg your pardon, Inquisitor!"

Evana quickly pulled from his embrace and put a more professional distance between them, hiding an embarrassed laugh behind her hand. Heat rushed up Cullen's neck, and he watched in chagrinned fascination as a corresponding blush spread across Evana's cheeks. He fought to control his reaction as she cleared her throat softly. She was embarrassed, but inexplicably, he found that she also seemed pleased.

"You should go speak with Dagna," she finally managed. "I have a dinner engagement with some nobles tonight at Josephine's insistence, but I'll... um... catch up with you later, Commander."

"Yes, Inquisitor."

He thanked the Maker his voice sounded normal. Now, if only the burning heat under his collar - and elsewhere - would subside.

The wide-eyed soldier stayed rooted in place, even forgetting to salute, as she demurely walked out of Cullen's office. The young man just stared after her a moment, and Cullen wondered for the first time if no one else could see her - the real her. The way his soldiers and even Malia talked about her, they seemed to think her some sort of stoic, emotionless figurehead.

Then again, he'd thought the same at first. But now he saw everything - the tiny changes in her eyes and mouth, the subtle inflections of her voice, the way she leaned her body this way or that, arms wrapped around her middle or crossed over her chest. He saw those things and knew what they meant. He knew _her_.

He tried to remember their first meetings, those days around the war table when she'd looked at him with a neutral or even slightly fearful expression, holding him and everyone else at an arm's length... Even with her occasional emotional outbursts in those early days, she'd been almost impossible to read. Thankfully, Josephine had learned Evana's tells early on.

Those days seemed so far away, and yet it had only been a year. Not even. Josephine had spent the past month planning a remembrance ceremony for the anniversary of the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. In a few days, they'd gather to honor those who'd sacrificed and fortify themselves for the battles to come.

"Um... Commander?"

Cullen blinked to focus on the young man still standing in the doorway. He'd completely forgotten about the soldier. He fought off a grin. _She's having a bad effect on me. Distracting me from my work. And I don't even care._ He put on a scowl and took on his gruffest voice.

"Well?"

"It's a report, ser. From Captain Rylen."

Cullen just looked at the man for a moment. Finally, he raised his eyebrows, held out his hand and beckoned to the man.

"Well, hand it over, then," he said in an exasperated tone.

"Ah, y-yes, ser."

The soldier, clearly not accustomed to running messages, floated back to the door before standing still. "Did you need anything else, ser?"

"No. Dismissed."

"Thank you, ser!"

Cullen sighed loudly and skimmed through the report. More of the same. Poison, heat, sickness among the most seriously wounded in the healing tents and hostile wildlife that had gotten even worse after Evana killed the dragon. Maker's breath, that sent a surge of energy through his veins.

The impetus pushed him to gathered up the letters and reports of Samson's activities and head off to find Dagna. If anyone could solve this mess, it was the chipper Dwarf with a penchant for expensive toys.

He tried to ignore Solas on his way through, but the elf called to him before he could get through the rotunda. He couldn't contain the edge in his voice as he responded.

"Solas. How can I assist you?"

Solas' normally serene expression fade into a narrowed gaze. "A moment of your time, if I may."

Regardless of his intentions, Cullen's the surprise at the request crept into his voice. "Oh... I must speak with Dagna on urgent business."

"I will await your return, then."

Cullen stood motionless for a moment, weighing his options, but he finally relented. He could think of no reason to deny Solas' request.

Cullen nodded and then continued to the great hall without waiting for a response, his mind racing. What could Solas possible want to talk about? They had never been more than passing acquaintances, and since Evana's revelation... well, Cullen couldn't look at Solas without jealousy bubbling to the surface.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he took the door to the undercroft and tried to focus on what he needed from Dagna. The heat from the forge radiated through the cavernous area as he made his way to their arcanist, and to his frustration, a twinge of pain pulsed behind his eyes.

"Commander! What a nice surprise!"

"Hello, Dagna. I have a favor to ask. I think you'll like it."

"Oh? Do tell."

Cullen handed off the letters and other reports to her. "This all the information we have on a former templar named Samson. I know you've been working with bits of red lyrium, but this is... Samson has constructed an entire set of armor out of it, and we need to know how to break it. Otherwise, I'm afraid he'll be nearly impossible to defeat."

Dagna's jaw dropped open and for once, the talkative dwarf seemed at a loss for words. She looked between him and the parchment in her hands a few times before finally speaking again.

"What do you mean ‘an _entire_ set of armor'?"

Cullen pointed to the papers. "Read for yourself. All the details we have are there. I do have... personal experience with Samson, so if you have questions once you've gone through the letters, send a message or come find me."

"Very well, Commander. I'll do whatever I can. This could be expensive, though."

"We must have an answer, whatever the cost. It could save Thedas." _And the Inquisitor's life._

"Understood. I'll get to work immediately. I should have a preliminary idea of what will be needed in a day or two."

Cullen nodded. "Thank you, Dagna."

"My pleasure, Commander. Now, get out. I've got work to do."

The words should have been harsh, but her cheery tone sapped them of their sting. Within seconds, Dagna had forgotten that Cullen existed, so he acknowledged Harritt with a nod and then worked his way back to the great hall. His long strides had turned to slow steps, and he berated himself for his cowardice as he forced himself into a normal pace.

The kitchen staff were setting the tables for the dinner with the nobles as Cullen passed through, and his growling stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten since breakfast. Perhaps he could beg a snack from the chef before finding Solas...

He grimaced. _Stop avoiding and just get it over with, you fool, whatever "it" is._

Cullen paused in front of the door to the rotunda. Steeling himself to keep his emotions in check, he opened the door and strode into the room. Solas sat at his desk reading but looked up as soon as the door opened.

"Solas. I am at your service."

"Let us walk."

Cullen furrowed his brows a moment but then fell in step behind Solas as he led them to the great hall and then down the stairs toward the kitchen. Instead of passing through the kitchen, however, Solas took a different turn, and they ended up in a dark, somewhat musty-smelling room.

Without warning, mage lights sprang up around the room. On instinct, Cullen jerked backward, his hand reaching for his sword.

"Apologies," Solas intoned. "I should have prepared you."

Already embarrassed by his overreaction, Cullen bristled at the insinuation. "No need."

"I see."

Solas' tone conveyed the elf's disbelief, but Cullen managed to control himself and glanced around the newly lit area instead of engaging. They stood inside what looked like another library. Ancient books balanced precariously on dusty tables, and cobwebs covered most of the bookshelves lining the walls. Solas stopped on one side of a long table, so Cullen took the other side as he looked around him with a twinge of curiosity.

An eerie quiet settled over them, and he realized they were alone, far from the bustle of Skyhold's main rooms and outdoor spaces. That didn't frighten him as it once would have, but he remained wary. He found himself wondering again what Solas wanted to speak about. Instead of asking, however, he deflected.

"I had no idea this was here."

Solas hummed noncommittally. "Someone as busy as yourself does not likely have much time for exploring."

"Certainly not, but..." He shook his head and berated himself internally for being such a coward. "It doesn't matter. What would you like to discuss, Solas?"

Solas lightly cleared his throat, displaying an uncharacteristic flash of emotion that threw Cullen for a loop. He hadn't seen anything like it since their conversation with Varric at the tavern in Haven. The knowledge set Cullen's nerves on edge.

The elf finally looked down at an ancient book on the table between them, running his finger across the spine before looking up again. The serene expression had returned, his voice quiet and matter-of-fact as he spoke.

"We have never been friends, Commander, nor do I think either one of us desires it. However, I had thought us neutral allies." He paused as if choosing his words carefully, and then finally continued. "Recently, I have noticed your attitude toward me has become decidedly cold. Whatever the reason, I would like a chance to rectify it, if only because I know it makes the Inquisitor uncomfortable to have us at odds with one another."

Cullen stared at Solas in shock. For several agonizing moments, he couldn't even begin to form a reply. Not only had Solas noticed Cullen's behavior, but he claimed it made Evana uncomfortable. How could he know that?

That was enough to bring Cullen out of his stupor. He kept his voice low as he responded.

"You have an interest in the Inquisitor's _feelings_ , Solas?"

Solas clenched his jaw for a split second before releasing it, but otherwise, his face remained calm. "I understand that you and the Inquisitor are... close. Perhaps more so than... ... well... regardless, she-"

"Finish your thought, Solas," Cullen growled, the ire building with every word out of Solas' mouth. "No need to stand on ceremony at this point. ‘Perhaps more so than' what?"

Solas paused for a long moment, the blue in his eyes nearly turning black. "Perhaps more than is appropriate for a _leader_ and her _advisor_."

Cullen sucked in a breath in an attempt to keep his temper in check, and Solas continued. "Regardless, she is still my friend, Commander. I have no desire to see her distressed."

"Then stay away from her," he ground out between clenched teeth.

It was stupid. His reactions. His behavior. The direction of the conversation. But he couldn't seem to stop himself. The anger seethed under his skin. Who was Solas to tell _him_ how Evana felt?

And there lay the crux of the matter. Solas _did_ know how Evana felt because he was connected to her, and he felt deeply for her. She'd gone to him about her dreams. What else had she confided in him? The flame of jealousy burned brightly in his mind, cutting off his reason and even his templar-trained self-control.

The slightly upturned lip, almost a snarl, gave away Solas' own ire. The elf's voice strained under the pressure of holding everything inside.

"Even if I _wished_ to, I cannot. As her companion, I go wherever and do whatever she asks. I am here to help her - to help _you_ \- in your quest to bring peace to Thedas. Would you have me abandon her?"

"She has Dorian."  
  
"Yes, a mage strong in _offensive_ magic but barely competent in healing. You of all people should know how careful, how strategic she is about choosing her companions. She takes me when there is high risk of injury. She knows I can save her friends - or _her_ \- if the worst should come to pass. Would you risk her life by sending me away? All to ease your petty jealousy?"

Cullen huffed in anger, and he turned away to pace. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Solas' veneer cracked and a vicious growl escaped him. "Do me the courtesy of not lying to me, Commander. You have long been jealous of my relationship with Evana, but only recently has your jealousy has turned to coldness. Why the change? She no longer seeks me in the Fade, nor does she come to me for lessons. She does these things to placate you, no matter that it is not in _her_ best interest. You have her time, her attention, her _love_. You have already won! Why is that not enough?"

The anger overwhelmed every ounce of reason, and Maker help him, he could not control it. He skidded to a halt and slammed his fists down on the table between them.

"Because you have a piece of her that I will _never_ have!"

Even as the words left his mouth, the jealousy and anger drained away, leaving him cold and full of self-loathing. Maker, what had he been thinking? Wasn't this the one thing he'd most wished to keep from the mysterious elven mage who already had a tentative hold on her? The silence stretched between them until Solas finally nodded, his expression calm once more.

"I see. Then it seems we are at an impasse."

Cullen leaned up, put a hand over his face and turned away from the table. The twinges of pain he'd felt in the undercroft exploded into a full-blown headache.

Could he salvage any of this? Despite his words, Solas made no move to leave, and Cullen thought perhaps the elf was giving him an opportunity. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking. Regardless, he couldn't leave things like this. He dropped his hand and turned back, forcing himself to meet Solas' gaze.

"What I meant... I meant that I'm not..." He couldn't hold eye contact. He looked to the side and started again. "I'm not a mage... or an elf. She can speak with you on a level that I can never understand and..."

"And that bothers you? You are upset that... you are not an elf mage?"

Cullen narrowed his gaze at Solas, irritation surging once more as he shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous. I don't mean that I wish for myself - or her, for that matter - to change. It's just a part of her that I can't fully experience... But you can."

Solas remained silent, and Cullen took the opportunity to review the elf's earlier words. Solas didn't wish to be friends, but he did want to retain their previous working relationship. Despite the residual emotions coloring his perceptions, Cullen understood rationally that his behavior toward Solas had been immature at best. With an internal grimace, he admitted the truth, if only to himself.

He needed to _get over it_. If nothing else, he needed to trust Evana. He'd said it, and he even felt it, but he wasn't acting like it.

Solas finally broke the silence. The tenor of his voice was a bit smug but, miraculously, not unkind.

"Being elven and being a mage does imply a depth of knowledge that a non-mage human could never understand. But you can attempt it. Especially regarding her culture. She knows well my... aversion to the ways of the Dalish, but she is different. She is unique. You need not be an elf to know what it means to her. I know her magic inherently just as she knows mine, but you can ask her what she feels and thinks about magic to better know her."

Cullen nearly rolled his eyes, but kept the reaction in check. If he intended to put this behind him, he must start now. That began with acknowledging the point of Solas' somewhat condescending speech.

"You're trying to help me?"

"As I said, I am her friend, and I wish her to be happy. For reasons unfathomable to me, _you_ make her happy. You know more about her than anyone here, but you have only just scratched the surface. Dig deeper, Commander."

Cullen should have been offended, but he could only let out a disbelieving huff of amusement. Solas really was trying to help him.

"I don't know what to say."

"Say you will pay more attention. Say you will learn her every movement, her every emotion, all the small things that others miss. Ask her about her language, her culture, her religion, until she gives you real answers. She will demur at first. The Dalish dislike humans, and she will not want you to truly understand that. But ask anyway."

"I-"

Cullen stopped himself, looked down at the dusty tome under his fingers and let out a growl of frustration at his typical lack of words. This was important, though. Solas seemed to think Cullen's feelings for Evana were shallow and unworthy. Or perhaps the elf merely thought Cullen himself shallow and unworthy. Leaning down on the table, he took a deep breath and started again, determined to make Solas understand.

"I do ask. And I pay attention. I know when she's embarrassed, it looks as though she's disappointed or angry. I know she scares the soldiers with her quiet, solemn stares, but the neutral expression is merely a cover for how awkward she feels. I know she is happiest when doing useful work and surrounded by useful things. I know as many phrases in elven as she will teach me, and I ask her what it means when she says something I don't understand. I know that she doesn't believe in her Creators any more than she believes in the Maker, but she _wants_ to believe. I've asked about her parents and her clan. I've asked about how she feels to be our Herald and let her know I don't care if she is or isn't. Her titles mean nothing to me because _she_ is the important thing."

He paused to take a deep breath, shook his head, and finally looked up at Solas. The elf stared at Cullen intently, and Cullen stared back, trying to convey the power of what he felt with his expression as well as his words.

"I know there are things she keeps from me. Things about her clan... about her mother. I want to ask her about those things. I _will_ ask her because I want to know _everything_. That's why it bothers me so much that there are things I can never know. And, Solas, if you think I don't know exactly how lucky I am - if you think I don't understand what a treasure she is and how unworthy I am of her love - you are sorely mistaken."

When Cullen finally stopped speaking, the two stared at each other in silence for a few moments. Cullen felt as if the other man were trying to peer into his soul. Finally, Solas dipped his head in acquiescence.

"My apologies, Commander. I had assumed... but I was clearly under the wrong impression. Perhaps we could start over from the beginning?"

It was enough. Cullen pushed off the table and offered his hand to Solas.

"And I apologize in return for my... childish behavior. We are allies. We are fighting the same battle. From now on, I will try to remember that - for the Inquisitor's sake as well as for Thedas."

Cullen bit back a sigh of relief when Solas reached out to grasp his hand.

"Thank you, Commander. That is all I wished for. The conversation has been... most enlightening. For both of us, I think."

Cullen raised an eyebrow, but tilted his head in acknowledgment nonetheless. "Indeed."

This time, Solas wasted no time in leading them up and out of the underground library and back to his rotunda. In pain and eager to be alone, Cullen bid Solas a good evening and walked across the bridge to his office. He sucked in a deep breath, exhaled a puff of frost, and then stepped into the relative warmth of his office.

The room was blessedly empty. Malia had brought him a dinner tray, but he ignored it and veered toward his bookshelf. He took a small swig of headache draught to assuage the pounding in his temples and walked over to sit down in front of the fire for a moment. Closing his eyes, he tried not to dwell on the recent conversation, but thoughts infiltrated his weakened defenses and agitated him anew.

Solas knew now. At least, he understood what Cullen feared - that Solas could connect with Evana in a way Cullen couldn't. The elf said he wanted to help, and Cullen wanted to believe him, but...

A faint buzzing noise caught his attention, but it faded under the crackling of the fire. He shook his head slightly and listened again. Nothing. With so many withdrawal symptoms, he could never be sure it wasn't all in his head.

The headache dulled, so he stood and moved to his desk, determined to get a couple more hours of work done. He ate as he worked, careful not to drip any food on his reports. Finally, he finished his meal as well as the final report on his stack of urgent messages. He looked at the stack of second level priority messages and reports and let out a loud sigh. The buzzing noise caught his attention again, and he furrowed his brow in confusion. He'd just stood up to pinpoint the noise when Malia entered his office.

"Commander?" She walked forward holding a letter out for him. "This just came in from Wycome."

Buzzing forgotten, Cullen grabbed the parchment from the dwarf. The message was written in Rozellene's tight script, but a flowing script took over the bottom half of the page.

_Commander Cullen,_

_We have arrived and are hard at work on fortifications. Rotations are set, and Sister Leliana's scouts monitor the outlying areas. Things are moving along quickly, and I expect to be fully fortified in the next two weeks. Even if the attack comes before then, the city is rather well situated, and I am confident in our ability to defend the area should the worst come to pass._

_As a side note, during our second night in the city, the Lady Volant introduced me and a few of the other Lieutenants to the Wycome city leaders, including elves from the alienage and Clan Lavellan. When the clan Keeper heard I was in charge of the mission, she requested I allow her to send a small message the next time I made a report back to Skyhold. Keeper Istimaethoriel is a power to be reckoned with, Commander, and I dared not deny her request. You will see her message below and ensure it reaches the Inquisitor, I'm sure._

_Lieutenant Rozellene Chambreterre_

The flowing script that followed was written in elven - Cullen couldn't make out a word of it except Rozellene and Lady Volant's names. The Keeper was a force to be reckoned with, eh? From Evana's descriptions of the woman as a caring mother figure, the epithet surprised him. Rozellene was a shrewd judge of character, however, so he had little reason to doubt her. He folded the letter and looked up to find Malia still waiting patiently.

"I will personally ensure the letter reaches the Inquisitor. How goes the dinner with the nobles?"

"I understand the dinner will conclude in a few moments. Lady Montilyet also asked me to remind you that you promised to attend the after-dinner celebrations." Malia looked down and then back up apologetically. "And she hopes in your _formal_ attire."

"Maker's breath! I said I would consider attending if I had completed enough of my work, which I haven't. Please tell Lady Montilyet that I can't be bothered with such things right now."

Malia shifted on her feet. "And Lady Montilyet said that if you refused, I should say that the Inquisitor would greatly appreciate your company as she is, and I quote, ‘drowning in suitors.'"

Cullen's heart stopped. Logically, he knew Josephine was playing with him. But as with his recent conversation with Solas, logic was hard to come by where Evana and "suitors" were concerned. He let out a long sigh and mentally conceded to Josephine's superior manipulation skills.

"Fine. Tell Josephine... oh, nevermind. Let it be a surprise for her. You're dismissed for the evening."

"Oh... thank you, ser!"

As Malia darted for the door, Cullen looked at the pile of work and shook his head. Perhaps he could get just a couple more reports finished...

The image of Evana surrounded by simpering, sniveling nobles flashed through his mind. He didn't worry about her loyalty, of course, but he did worry that she would be uncomfortable with that kind of attention. She had done well at the Winter Palace, but she'd also said she hated every moment of it.

Abandoning all thoughts of paperwork, Cullen ascended the ladder, shed his armor and donned his formal outfit. The jacket that had been too tight at the Winter Palace now fit him perfectly. He frowned at his reflection a little and reminded himself that the stress of battle and then the traveling were really to blame for losing so much weight. Still, the trend worried him. He'd have to report it to Cassandra when she returned.

Instead of walking across the bridge to the great hall, he headed around the battlements to the upper courtyard. He told himself it was so that he would make the proper entrance through the main doors of the great hall, but really, he just didn't want to see Solas again so soon. They had called a truce - or rather Cullen had agreed he was being a petty jackass - but that didn't mean he was eager to be in the elf's company.

Looking around as he entered the great hall, he spied the elf he _did_ want to accompany surrounded by a large group of men and a few women. His heart skipped a beat as he took in her lovely form encased in yet another of Josephine's Orlesian wonders. Cullen stayed in the shadows and simply drank in the sight of her for longer than his should, but finally, he tore his eyes away to scan the room. Josephine and Leliana mingled among the guests, laughing and smiling as unobtrusive servers passed glasses of wine and small dessert pastries. Other than a few higher-ranking officers, Cullen couldn't see anyone else he knew.

His eyes gravitated toward Evana once more, and he noticed her hands were empty. Grabbing two glasses of wine from a passing tray, he eased up beside her as the others continued to talk around them. She shrunk away from his closeness for a split second until she seemed to recognize his red uniform. A radiant smile spread across her face as she turned to him and took the offered glass of wine.

"Hello, Commander," she murmured.

Maker, she was so beautiful. He was staring. He needed to stop. But instead, he smiled slowly and returned her greeting with one of his own as he raised his glass to his lips.

"Hello, Inquisitor."

A familiar voice to his left pulled his attention away from Evana. "Commander. I am surprised to see you here. I understood you found such events tedious and considered yourself far too important and busy to deign to show your face."

Morrigan. He'd missed her in the crowd. Not that he disliked her... well... yes, he did dislike her. He told himself it wasn't because she was a mage who likely dabbled in blood magic, though realistically, he knew that was part of the reason for his distaste. Her smugness was another. Add to that her knowledge of his past, and the woman just made him uncomfortable.

"I _am_ busy, but I found I could spare a few minutes to join you."

"We were just discussing your rather impressive win at Adamant. I fear I arrived too late to be of assistance in the battle, but perhaps you'd like to add your thoughts? Our Inquisitor has been rather reticent with details."

Maker, they'd been asking Evana for details about Adamant? He looked down to find her smile had faded. He longed to put an arm around her waist - to comfort her with his presence - but it would be entirely unprofessional. So, he did the next best thing. He took the lead in the conversation. For the next fifteen minutes, he regaled his listeners with the finer points and strategies of the battle - battering rams, siege equipment, and battle formations. As time went on, more and more of the crowd began yawning politely behind their hands and excusing themselves from the conversation. Finally, only Morrigan, Evana, and two highly interested and rather wizened former officers remained in the group.

"And that's how we broke the outer line of the demon ranks and held the battlements."

One of the old gentlemen actually clapped excitedly. "Oh, how exciting! I haven't been in a battle since the Blight. Even then, they wouldn't let me on the front ranks. Too old, they said. I envy you, Ser, your youth and opportunity. The women must _flock_ to you."

Cullen cleared his throat awkwardly, but amazingly, it was Morrigan who came to his rescue. "I believe our Commander has more important things on his mind than entertaining women."

"I... uh... yes. Thank you, Morrigan. Running the Inquisition's army leaves little time for anything else. I am guarded with my time."

The other old gentleman nudged his friend and whispered loudly. "That means he's got himself a _particular_ lady friend. Can you imagine who that might be?"

The man had the audacity to wink at Evana. He heard her choke on her drink. Jumping to action, he cupped her elbow and turned to Morrigan.

"You'll make sure these gentlemen are entertained this evening, won't you, Morrigan? I have some business to discuss with the Inquisitor."

Without another word, he led her to a secluded spot by the throne and then turned to give her a concerned look. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she sent him a wry smile. "Thank you for the intervention back there, by the way. I thought I was going to start screaming if they asked me to describe the battle one more time."

He gazed down at her adoringly. "Any time, my love."

She blushed and took another drink of her wine before taking a small step closer to him. "I'll probably excuse myself sometime in the next couple of hours, but I'm afraid the festivities might last into the night. Apparently, this is a much bigger deal than I'd originally thought. A celebration of our victory... or something."

"Not to worry. I still have a mountain of paperwork to get through... which reminds me, I did actually have a bit of business to discuss." Cullen pulled out the letter from Rozellene. "This update came from Wycome a few minutes ago."

Evana grabbed at the letter and greedily devoured it. Her expression remained neutral as she finished the letter, but Cullen didn't trust it.

"What does your Keeper say?"

Evana shook her head. "It's very complimentary. And... well. I'll just read it to you-"

Josephine's voice cut her off as the ambassador approached their secluded spot, the typical note of displeasure apparent in her tone. "Commander, when I asked you to join us tonight, I didn't expect you would keep the Inquisitor all to yourself!"

Evana waved the letter. "There was another letter from Wycome, Josie."

"Oh! I see. Well... is everything alright?"

"Yes, things seem to be going well thanks to Lady Volant and Captain Rozellene. My Keeper is highly impressed by your diplomat, Josie."

"That's good to hear. She is one of the best."

"I have no doubt. It's just that I've never heard Keeper speak so positively about humans before. It's... odd."

"Perhaps the people of Wycome are winning her over?"

Evana smiled but looked unconvinced. "Perhaps. But she also says Aneer is not coming along so well as she would have liked as the new First."

Cullen fought hard to maintain a passive expression. "What does that mean?"

Evana looked at him, and despite the disapproving huff from Josephine, she reached up to caress his face briefly. "I have an idea. But it hardly matters to me. They will find someone. Keeper is not so old that she doesn't have time to train another First if Aneer doesn't work out."

He quietly released a breath and smiled down at her. The urge to kiss her came on so strong, he found himself leaning toward her for a split second before he caught himself. He'd almost forgotten where he was. He saw Evana sway back from him as well and then blush. He should get back to his office before he did something scandalous... like pick her up and carry her to _their_ bed.

"I'll see you later?" she asked.

"Without a doubt," he replied while brushing the lightest of kisses over the back of her hand. "I look forward to it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally managed to get [Chapter 24 of THTBLHL](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9047525/chapters/34891283) written and posted. For those interested, the second half of the chapter contains the long conversation between Cullen and Rylen just before Cullen leaves Adamant for Skyhold (just scroll down until you finally get past the smut ;).


	67. In which it's back to the grind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's nothing but work, work, work all the time. And a bit of teasing on the side.

Evana stayed at the party for another hour before exhaustion caught up with her. Weeks of sleep deprivation combined with incessant gossip and false flattery from simpering nobles drained the life right out of her. Cullen had been the one bright spot of the evening, and even that ended far too soon. She wanted nothing more than to sleep for a week.

The work, however, never stopped.

She savored the act of destroying the elaborate up do Josephine had insisted upon and let the curls float above her shoulders as she discarded the Orlesian monstrosity Josephine called a dress. Evana then put on her favorite sleeping gown, arranged her hair into a loose, messy bun, and sat down at her desk to continue working through the mountains of papers and reports that had accumulated in her absence.

She'd tried to do a bit each night, but still the piles stretched from one side of the desk to the other. She barely had room to write her responses. Josephine, bless her, had sorted the piles in to order of priority. But the difficulty of the decisions required of her varied widely, and every decision - along with the knowledge that she held so many lives in her hands - weighed heavy on her shoulders.

Some needed little thought. With the flick of a wrist, Evana sent aid to farmers, ordered Wardens to investigate darkspawn, and sent soldiers to defend civilians from red templar and Venatori attacks. These decisions cost money, but they engendered goodwill among the people. Slowly, the Inquisition had grown in standing with not only the nobles of Ferelden and Orlais, but with the common folk, who were often harder to please, especially with an elf at the helm.

But other decisions... Evana often sat with pen poised over paper, hesitating to scrawl the final signature or indicate the favored response. With the stroke of her pen, she could cripple a trade route. It might cut off supplies to their enemies, but the common folk who also relied on those routes would undoubtedly suffer, too. She could call for a clearing of a troubled area, but in the process, those who lived there peacefully might lose everything they'd spent their lives building.

The weight only compounded when she couldn't answer a call for assistance. Since the victory at Adamant, the Inquisition had ballooned in size. Even so, they only had so many soldiers, so many agents, so many diplomats. A good portion of them now defended her clan, and guilt ate away at her resolve with each signature on a denial for assistance. How many others would suffer because she chose to protect her clan?

After another hour or two - she couldn't be certain as she might have fallen asleep a couple of times - she had completed one pile of priority responses. Eight piles remained. Josephine had encouraged her to get through as many as possible today, but words swam on the page as she struggled to focus.

Throwing the paper down in frustration, she propped her elbows on the desk and dug her palms into her eyes. She just needed a moment to rest her eyes, and then she'd get back to it. Her head slid down her forearms until her forehead rested on the desk, her arms falling to the desk as she gave in to the urge to rest for just a moment...

Evana woke to strong arms lifting her from her chair. Cullen's laughter followed her mumbling protests as he carried her to the bed. Their bed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed it softly. He laughed again, this time in a deeper, huskier tone.

"It seems I'm not the only one who falls asleep at their desk."

She groaned and then mumbled, "After two months away, I'm so behind."

"I feel that way all the time. You'll get through it. But not without sleep."

He laid her down on the bed, and she pulled the covers back while he moved around the room to blow out candles and place another log or two on her fire. He must have taken off his armor while she slept, because he walked barefoot around her room in nothing but a pair of linen pants and a tunic. She smiled softly at the sight of him, a swell of pride and possessiveness crowding her chest.

Finally, he came back, and she dragged him under the covers with her. Her loose bun fell out completely as he threaded one hand through her hair and flattened the other against the small of her back to gather her against his chest.

"Did you make it upstairs without drawing too much attention?" she mumbled into his neck.

"The few remaining nobles in the hall were so drunk, I doubt they'll remember seeing me walk by."

"Hmmm... you'd be surprised. But it doesn't matter."

She lifted her head and kissed him soundly on the mouth, her hands immediately working to pull his shirt off. He seemed surprised for a moment, but then he responded by deepening the kiss, punishing her lips with sudden urgency.

After discarding his shirt, his hand moved from her back to her waist, and he rolled on top of her. A thrill of anticipation shot through her as he settled between her legs. His lips drew from hers in deep, sustained pulls, and when she opened to him, he delved into her, his tongue laving hot strokes into her mouth. She moaned as his hand moved up to cup her breast, his thumb brushing over the taut peak through the fabric of her gown.

Eager to feel his skin on hers, she pushed him to the side and sat up. Within seconds, her gown fluttered off to the side of the bed. Grabbing his shoulders, she pulled him toward her once more, and they let out mutual sounds of pleasure as they pressed together, skin to skin.

"Evana," he breathed out harshly, "I had thought to let you sleep."

"Yes... sleep... after," she agreed as she peppered him with kisses.

She caught hold of his hand and slid it over her hip and between her legs. Then, she reached down to palm his hardened length through his linen pants. His hips thrust into her hand even as his fingers began their exploration. She gasped as a wave of pleasure washed over her.

"I've been thinking of this all day," he breathed, his lips trailing down her throat and his fingers delving more deeply.

"Mmmmmmmm... me, too, vhenan."

The laces of his linen pants came undone easily, and she slid them down his body before guiding his hips between her legs.

"Cullen..."

His mouth sucked on her neck and jaw before moving to her earlobe. "Tell me what you want, love."

"You, ma lath," she whispered into his ear, "inside me."

He let out a huff of air as she reached between them to stroke his hard length and guide him to where she needed him. With a few slow, shallow thrusts, he slid his length along her wet folds, teasing her. He exhaled heavily with each roll of his hips before he finally positioned himself at her entrance. With a groan of her name, he thrust inside her in one smooth stroke.

He began to move, and she wrapped her legs around him, every snap of their hips, every ragged breath, every beat of their hearts synchronized between them. She let out a vocal sigh when his mouth found her ear and his fingers dipped between her legs once more. Pleasure built steadily with every stroke, her body taut with want, until the pressure finally snapped. Her body clenched and pulsed around him, and she cried out his name. Cullen followed her with a ragged groan against her shoulder, his body and breath shuddering through his release.

He pressed kisses into her shoulder and neck, and she sighed into his ear, her heart nearly bursting from the love that swelled within her. She let her fingers roam over his muscles, memorizing each ripple and scar as they came down from the heights of their love-making.

To her, their joining reflected more than physical desire. She loved to see how easily he fell apart for her - how the strong military commander bared his heart, along with his magnificent body, only for her. She'd never had this kind of power over a man... nor allowed a man such power over her.

She wouldn't compare him to Hanir. Such a comparison insulted Cullen's person as well as his professed love for her. In fact, she might as well have never been bonded at all for how little it had prepared her for real, loving relationship. She'd never experienced most of the things Cullen considered to be natural progressions in their relationship, and she wanted to savor every moment.

As she kneaded her fingers into his neck and shoulders, Cullen hummed his approval. After a long moment, however, he withdrew from her, rolled to his side, and grabbed a cloth to clean them both. When they finished, they slipped beneath the covers, and she pressed her body and mouth against his. His hands moved slowly over her skin as he kissed her sweetly in return.

"I will never get tired of this," he murmured into her mouth.

"I hope not because I intend for us to repeat this as many times as possible before I'm off again."

He pulled her against him tightly while laughing softly. "Do you, now?"

"Morning, noon and night," she affirmed.

"Hmmmm," he murmured huskily as he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth and paused to consider. "I might know a few spots to assist with the noon bit."

She laughed as she wiggled even closer to him, "Oooh, clandestine sex breaks in the secluded corners of Skyhold? I like that."

"It's certainly better than confusing my soldiers with locked doors at midday. I can only imagine the impudent comments and lewd looks should we be discovered."

She'd meant to commiserate but ended up only humming out her agreement as his hands slid slowly over her skin. Nothing felt better than his hands. She'd known it would be like that - had dreamed of it. But the brush of his callouses against her sensitive skin and the gentleness of his fingers as they lingered in the dips and curves of her body left her trembling. He stopped, however, at a particularly deep ridge across her stomach. Pulling away slightly, he rested his head on his other hand and looked down at her with furrowed brows.

"Is this from your time with the Inquisition?"

"Yes. From one of my first battles with templars in the Hinterlands. I didn't think it was that bad, so I didn't mention it until later. By the time Solas healed it, the scar was inevitable. My own fault, really."

He kissed her forehead. "Thank the Maker for Solas."

Evana stilled before tentatively observing, "I never expected to hear those words from you."

Cullen ducked his head and then raised his eyes to hers once more. "He and I had a bit of a... discussion today."

Evana sat up on her elbows, alarm coursing through her. A discussion?

"What does that mean?"

Cullen shrugged, clearly ill at ease. "We worked through some things and ended on a handshake. We will never be friends, but... we are allies."

Evana eased down beside him again but kept her eyes glued to his. "What led to this... discussion?"

"Solas asked to speak with me."

Evana shook her head. She was missing something. And Cullen was being vague... intentionally?

"Did he say why?"

Cullen didn't answer immediately, and Evana's heart beat a little faster. Solas had initiated the conversation. Why would he do that? And why would Cullen hesitate to reveal that information? Although she knew she had no reason for it, her chest seized in guilt and fear. Finally, Cullen sighed softly.

"He... he had noticed my coldness and... your discomfort."

Relief flooded through her. "My discomfort. At the distance between the two of you?"  
  
"Yes."

"And so he decided to clear the air?" she prompted, looking for confirmation.

"For you," he blurted, his voice tight, "so you wouldn't be uncomfortable any more. He did it for you."

Cullen flopped to his back and wiped both hands down his face. Evana, still shocked by the revelation, remained silent. When he spoke again, bitterness tinged every word.

"And you know the worst part - other than realizing how childish I've been these past weeks? He thought I needed relationship advice." Cullen barked out a harsh laugh. "Maybe I do."

Disturbed by his tone, Evana took his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. His amber eyes glowed in the firelight, a hard glint marring his otherwise beautiful features.

"Cullen, tell me what's wrong. You came to an understanding with Solas. This seems a good thing to me, but you're upset. Why?"

Cullen's eyes slid away, though he didn't try to pull away from her hands. "I didn't realize my actions were making you uncomfortable. Solas did."

Evana closed her eyes as understanding swept over her. "Vhenan, you cannot see all things all the time. And Solas is often far too observant for his own good."

"You are too understanding," he said in an almost chastising tone.

"No, you're too hard on yourself," she shot back. "You didn't _have_ to work things out with Solas. I can handle a little tension in the ranks now and then."

He reached over to cup her face. "You shouldn't have to, though. You have enough to deal with. I won't be a problem any longer. I promise."

"You aren't-" She cut off and grunted in frustration. "You are _not_ a _problem_. You didn't have to come to an understanding, but you did anyway. For me. You chose my peace of mind over your own comfort. I am grateful for that... for you... but I'll never _expect_ that, Cullen."

A small smile curved his lips, and he nodded. He pulled her into him once again and breathed deeply into her hair.

"I will always choose you. Above all others. Above everything else. I would..." He paused, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were struggling with something momentous. "There is _nothing_ I would not do for you."

The weight behind his words punched her in the gut. For a man with an innate sense of duty and honor to claim he would do _anything_ for her... Once again, she marveled at the power he allowed her to wield over him.

"Lucky for you, I love you too much to ask you to do something dishonorable. Who would Cullen Rutherford be without duty and honor?"

He kept his arm under her but turned to lie on his back again. "And yet, I asked you to do more for me. I asked you to give up your family and _your_ duty as First to Clan Lavellan. What does that say about me?"

"That's different."

"How? How is it different?"

She propped herself up on her elbow and lifted her marked hand for him to see. "I was lost to my clan the instant I gained this mark. Call it fate. Call it the hand of the Maker. Call it lousy luck, but _you_ didn't set these things in motion. I've... changed since I've been here, and even if I wished to return to that life, I know now that I would never be satisfied by it. And besides... even before I was sent to the Conclave, I didn't want to become Keeper."

A bewildered look crossed his face. "You... why not?"

"It was an honor and a sacred duty, but it felt wrong. I am not like my clan members. I don't hate outsiders. I've never disliked humans, even though I was encouraged to do so. Keeper Deshanna pushed us to stay secluded. I understand why... but after experiencing all this," she waved her hand to indicate all of Skyhold, "how could I leave you all behind? I call you vhenan for a reason, Cullen. You are my heart. How could I leave my heart?"

He nodded but then frowned. "I still feel like... like I ask so much more of you than you've ever asked of me."

"Maybe if things were different," she allowed with a sigh. "Maybe if I didn't have this mark and we'd met some other way, it would be a more difficult decision. But as it is... you must believe me, even if we'd never fallen in love, I wouldn't go back to my clan. And because we _did_ fall in love... for the first time, the future seems bright to me. Full of possibilities." Her voice took on a tenderness that even surprised her. "I didn't have that before you."

He exhaled tremulously. "Nor I. You are the subject of all my hopes and dreams now. I can't... I can't imagine my life without you."

She smiled at him and then laid her head on his chest. "Hmmm... as Dorian would say, 'I imagine it would be boring and very much lacking in style.'"

His chest rose and fell with his laughter, and she laughed with him. He kissed her on the top of the head and sighed.

"Do the letters from your Keeper make it more difficult?"

Evana considered for a moment before responding. "In some ways... yes. She's like a mother to me - more so than my own mother. But the letter tonight... I could sense that perhaps the rumors of our relationship may have reached Wycome, most likely from our own soldiers, unfortunately."

Cullen tensed slightly. "What made you think so? Did she say something about us?"

"Oh, no. But her language was very particular. She called Lady Volant accomplished and Captain Rozellene a fierce warrior. Those are words we use to placate - to butter someone up before asking them for something. She never asked for anything in her letter, so I assume it's coming later, when all the unrest in Wycome is resolved."

"Do you think she'll demand you return to the clan?"

"She may try. She is... good at getting her way."

"Hmmm... so Rozellene's description of her as a ‘power to be reckoned with' wasn't so far off the mark?"

Evana laughed. "I missed that! I guess I was so preoccupied with Keeper's words... I'll have to read her letter again tomorrow. It's definitely an apt description. The Keeper is the only person besides Vash'an that I will truly regret not seeing again. And... my mother, I suppose. But they are not enough to make it worth leaving everything I've built for myself here. And you have my word on that, 'ma lath."

They were silent for a few moments before Cullen spoke again. His voice strained over the words, as if he were forcing himself to push them out.

"I'm sorry if I seem insecure. I simply... I want so badly to make you as happy as you make me, but every time I must prioritize the Inquisition over you, I feel like I'm failing. Especially considering all you've given up - perhaps not for me, but for the Inquisition, for Thedas. And yet..."

"And yet," she finished, "I can't imagine you shirking your duties or wanting me to shirk mine. I constantly have to put Inquisition needs over you and what I want for myself. We both do it. Someday, maybe we won't have to anymore, but for now, I forbid you from feeling guilty for working hard to save Thedas."

"I look forward to that day - the day when all this is over and we can have a moment to just breathe."

She huffed in amusement. "Yes, but what will you do with all that free time?"

He circled his arms around her and pulled her body flush with his own. "I can think of a few things."

He kissed her thoroughly but pulled away before too much heat built between them. "As much as I'd love to continue this, if we're going to have enough energy for our trysts, we should probably sleep instead."

"Mmmm, yes," she murmured, "good strategy, Commander. You're really very good at your job."

She felt him smile against her mouth as he kissed her again. Then, he turned to his side and fit her body neatly into the curve of his own. She loved how they came together so perfectly. Cullen draped an arm over her waist, and she reached back to lay a hand on his hip. She drifted to sleep to the rhythmic slide of his breath against her neck.

 

**

 

Cullen woke them early the next morning with a nightmare. He apologized profusely... until she shut him up with a kiss. He'd let his body do the talking after that and, oh, was it eloquent.

After a morning of training and paperwork, she now sat in the library with Dorian. He'd arrived that morning with Cassandra and Cole and had commandeered her attention after she'd dropped off a message with Leliana for Keeper Deshanna. It didn't take him long to get to the point as they huddled together in his alcove.

"So, you and the Commander...?"

"What about us?" Evana asked in an innocent tone.

Dorian rolled his eyes and held up a well-manicured finger for each item he listed off. "One, he got you that amulet and you've been wearing it every day since. Two, he's been sleeping in your bed - or you in his - every night-"

"Not _every_ night!"

He quirked a brow at her. "He was seen coming from your tent at Adamant after every sleeping shift _and_ from your quarters several nights before we even left for Adamant. Three, you both ogle each other incessantly. He's watching you on the battlements as you spar with Bull. You're gazing longingly at him in his formal attire in the middle of a party. Four-"

"Wait, wait, wait! Dorian, you weren't even here! How do you know these things?"

He huffed a little but didn't respond. Evana's eyes widened, and she poked a finger at his chest.

"You and Bull!" she squeaked.

Dorian rolled his eyes and flicked his hand in the air in dismissal. "Fine. Yes. Me and Bull. Don't try to change the subject."

Evana squealed in delight. "How long?"

"Since Adamant," he shot back before he leaned forward and pitched his voice to a stage whisper. "Now, tell me truthfully, have you and the Commander _finally_ done the deed? Or must I arrange an intervention? I've got a plan-"

"No! No intervention necessary."

Dorian raised his eyebrows. "So, you two have...?"

Evana wrinkled her nose. "Can we not talk about this?"

"I told you about me and Bull."

"Ugh. Barely!"

"Enough to deserve reciprocal dishing. Now _spill_."

Evana let out a little whine and her legs began bouncing of their own volition. She squirmed in her seat, looking for an exit, as Dorian huffed out a sad sigh.

"Looks like I'll have to put 'getting the Inquisitor laid' at the top of my to-do list."

 _Creators_. He would, too. He would make it his life's mission, right after "rid Thedas of evil darkspawn magister," and would publicly embarrass them both in the process. Evana held out for a moment longer before groaning and looking around to make sure no one could overhear. Then she leaned forward.

"Yes," she whispered.

Dorian leaned forward as well. "Yes?"

"We... we're..."

"You're having sex," he said much too loudly.

She growled at him and kicked his chair. "Shhhh!"

Dorian, however, was no longer paying attention to her. He clasped his hands together.

"Will wonders never cease? I knew he had it in him!"

"You're impossible," she grumbled.

"When did it happen?" he asked as if she hadn't spoken.

She shook her head, and let out a grunt of disgust. Heat suffused her body from head to toe. She couldn't believe he was making her talk about this. Well, really, she couldn't believe he was _getting_ her to talk about this.

"Two nights ago," she whispered after another long pause.

"Two nights! Well, well, this _is_ new. How many times? Was it good?"

"Dorian!"

"It's important information. I need it to judge his stamina!"

She sighed and shook her head again. "No. I'm not talking about this. It's good, and we're good. That's all I'm going to say."

Dorian's face fell. "Just ‘good'? Hmmmm... I understand if he's a little disappointing. After all that build up, it was inevitable..."

Evana's jaw dropped. "I never said-"

"If I knew how many times, I might be willing to change my perspective."

Evana set her jaw. She loved Dorian as a friend, but sometimes he infuriated her. She knew he wouldn't stop pestering her until they had this conversation, but to her amazement, talking with Dorian about her love life was _more_ embarrassing than talking about the lack thereof. She growled at him again before relenting.

"Fine!" she hissed. "Four... Wait, no... are we talking interludes or..." she cleared her throat and whispered, "... or orgasms?"

Dorian raised his brows again and a salacious smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "Oh... well, the latter, I suppose."

Evana thought back. "Three the first night, one last night, two this morning, and one this afternoon, so... seven."

"Seven! In two days? You _have_ been busy!"

 _If I'm doing this, I might as well be accurate about it._ "Well, not quite two days. It will be two days tonight. I imagine we'll add a couple more to the list before we're technically at two days."

"Careful, woman, or you'll wear the man out!"

Just to taunt him, she let a satisfied smile spread across her lips. "Oh, I don't think I'm in any danger of that."

Dorian expelled a long and wistful sigh. Then he shook himself.

"Well, my dear, I can see that you two are making up for lost time, so I won't detain you any longer. I'm sure you've got plenty of work to do before he ravishes you again tonight. Or perhaps on the war table as a reward for slogging through the terribly long and boring war council meeting you'll be having in a few minutes?"

Evana groaned. "Why did you have to say that? Now it's all I'll be able to think about!"

"Objective accomplished," he announced with a satisfied smirk. "Enjoy your meeting! Oh!" Dorian reached out and grabbed her hand to stop her from leaving. "Tell your Commander that I would be happy to help with his research."

She frowned. "What research?"

"Ask your lover next time you come up for air. I think he'll want to tell you himself."

She reached over and ruffled his perfect hair, and he exclaimed in protest. She laughed at his indignant sputtering even as her mind raced as to what Dorian could be researching for Cullen.

"I'll do that. And you'd better go find that Qunari of yours."

"As my hair is now ruined, I suppose I should. Wouldn't do any good to fix it just to have him mess it up all over again."

She punched him lightly in the shoulder and left him to his evening as she tried to keep her mind off the illicit images Dorian conjured of herself and Cullen and the war table... Lucky for her, she hadn't had that image to distract her as she'd toiled over the papers and reports on her desk that morning. She now only had _four_ giant piles left. Already, she felt buried in the demands of her position.

_What I wouldn't give for a moment of peace in the garden._

Evana jerked to a halt in the middle of the stairway down to the great hall. Her heart contracted in on itself.

"Oh. Oh no..."

She'd forgotten new seeds for Orian! In all her travels and busy-ness, the little elven boy and his mother's flowers had completely slipped her mind. Evana scrounged for possible fixes. Could she find someone close by with seeds? Could she travel somewhere, maybe to the Hinterlands? But no. She had too much to do to waste time like that... Perhaps she could add it on to an existing journey?

"Bull! He needs me to meet with..."  
  
A meeting with the Qunari would take time to arrange. She didn't want to keep Orian waiting any longer than necessary. Maybe Cassandra's quest to find the rest of the Seekers? Or Josephine would need her to visit Val Royeaux again soon...

 _Yes._ She would ask Josie in the council meeting how her plans were going. Evana had already approved a couple of missions to earn Josephine the favors she'd need to accomplish her goal. Maybe there was more news? At the very least, Josie would know where to procure seeds if they had to get them delivered.

She continued down the stairs and emerged just across from Josephine's door. Despite the relatively short distance to what she considered "safety," she could not escape the too-loud whispers of the nobles loitering in the great hall.

"Would you have guessed such a pairing?" a female voice simpered.

A male voice, dripping with disgust, answered firmly. "No. I prefer a high-born scandal. This is much less enthralling."

Evana had unwittingly slowed down as she realized the likely subject of their conversation. She and Cullen weren't _scandalous_ enough? Evana almost laughed aloud. The woman apparently noticed Evana's slower pace.

"Careful. Ears."

"Of course," the man responded.

Evana picked up her pace and made it to Josie's office before bursting into laughter. The elf and the human. The mage and the templar. The heathen and the faithful. They weren't scandalous _enough_ because she wasn't noble?

"Something is funny?" Josephine asked from across the room.

Evana, wiping the tears from her eyes at the irony of it all, closed the distance to stand in front of Josie's desk. "Oh, just marveling at some noble gossip about the Commander and myself. Pay no mind."

Josie smiled coyly as she walked out from behind her desk. "And is the gossip true?"

Evana shook her head and laughed again. "Not you, too?"

"Oh, I mean nothing by it! You two have been together for some time, but you should not feel pressured to do anything you do not wish..."  
  
Evana lifted a hand to squeeze Josie's shoulder before letting it fall to her side once more. "It's alright. Our relationship has recently... progressed, yes. Thank you for your advice all those months ago on special teas and herbs."

Josie waved a dismissive hand. "Of course! I'm simply delighted that the two of you are so happy. I find it quite inspiring that your love has flourished despite all the obstacles. I believe Maryden is writing songs about it already."

Evana raised an eyebrow. "Good thing Cullen doesn't go to the tavern very often. But what about you? I know a certain Grey Warden who seems to have a sweet spot for you."

Josie looked down and then turned to walk back to her desk. "Yes. Well, I... he's very sweet in his own way, isn't he?"

"I think he truly cares for you, Josie."

Josie turned back, a worried look on her face. "Do you? Oh, dear."

Josie's reaction confused Evana. Every time the two had been together in the past, they'd seemed to enjoy each other's company.

"I thought you liked Warden Blackwall?"

"I do! I mean, he's nice, but... we come from very different worlds."

Evana couldn't help it. She began laughing uncontrollably once again. First, the nobles. Now this. The irony was too much. Josie's confused and somewhat hurt look finally subdued Evana's joviality.

"I might know a little bit about coming from a different 'world' than your lover," she explained.

Recognition and slight embarrassment finally dawned on the ambassador's face. "Oh, yes, how silly of me."

"I don't mean to laugh at _you_. I know things sometimes seem overwhelming, but if you really care about the person, you should at least try, right? That's what everyone told _me_ anyway."

Josie gave her a weak smile. "I... perhaps."

"Well, that's something. I won't tease you any more about it. How about we get this meeting started?"

"That would be appreciated, yes."

The two walked into the war room and were soon followed by Cassandra, whom Evana hadn't seen since their time together in the Approach. Evana enveloped the other woman in a brief hug. Cassandra seemed surprised, but not unpleasantly so, and for a moment, the warrior woman even returned the hug.

"Good afternoon, Inquisitor. You look well."

"Welcome back, Cassandra," Evana said warmly. "I'm sorry to pull you into a meeting when you've only just arrived, but we wanted you to be present when deciding how to handle the revelations of our time in the Fade. And... well, the longer we delay, the harder this is going to be."

Cassandra nodded. "I agree. That is why I am here."

Cullen and Leliana appeared at the door, and Evana sighed. Time to get down to business.


	68. In which the road to love requires a sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian gives Evana a pep talk and then needs one himself after an illuminating dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Evana art by [cerulean--blues on Tumblr](http://cerulean--blues.tumblr.com/)!

Despite his deep love for sleeping in, Dorian rose at dawn and headed to the library to meet with the mages who'd agreed to assist with his new project on the study of lyrium withdrawal. The project had originated with Cullen, but the mages still didn't trust the ex-templar. Therefore, Dorian had taken it upon himself to lead the research - research not labeled as official Inquisition research, yet, but likely would be when Cullen managed to apprise Evana of the situation.

After a quick meeting with the former Circle mages to confirm they had a lot of reading ahead of them, they divided up their few texts on lyrium and dove in. The sun had barely risen when Evana joined him, picked out a book from his tiny pile on addictions and the properties of lyrium, and sat without a word on the chair he reserved for just such moments. Not that she usually talked during the rare days she found a moment to join him in the library, but today carried a different kind of silence. A heavy kind of quiet. And it had been going on for an hour or more.

The air around him pushed down in an oppressive blanket of undiluted magic. He looked up to find the air shimmering around her.

"'Here lies Dorian Pavus, who avoided near death for years only to be foiled by the implosion of a scrappy Dalish mage in the library of the Inquisition stronghold.'" Dorian shook his head. "No, it won't do. I am, after all, much too pretty to die."

In an instant, the pressure faded, and Dorian internally marveled at her methods even as he struggled to comprehend them. The first time he'd felt her magic at the Chantry in Redcliffe, he'd immediately understood it as controlled wildness. Dalish forms spun in loose and graceful arcs, and even Solas had commented on their pleasingly organic nature. As she perfected her focus, so too did she perfect the speed and agility with which she cast.

But beyond her methods and form, the way she pulled and just held her magic in a halo around her was... unique. Elements of the Fade pulsed and hummed around her as she pulled on it to create her next spell. Her time practicing and growing with himself and Solas had only served to strengthen the effect. Now, whenever she pulled on the Fade, the amount of magic at her immediate disposal frightened him a bit, though he'd never admit to it.

Right now, her focus wasn't on battle, but she clearly felt threatened. Or at least uneasy.

"Ir abelas, Dorian. I'm just... lost in my own thoughts. I don't think I've comprehended a word of this..." She gestured with the book in her hand and then closed it and set it back on his pile. "Though Cullen did tell me of your project, and I fully approve."

"It's an interesting proposal, to find a way to safely ween templars off lyrium," he commented. She nodded, but her heart clearly wasn't in it. He closed his own book and looked at her. "Whatever it is, out with it."

She sent him a weary smile. "The war council yesterday was one big circular argument. In the end, they wanted me to make the call, so I chose to tell the truth about our time in the Fade. Cassandra and Cullen were satisfied, but Leliana and Josephine... not so much."

"You'll never please everyone dear. That's why I simply don't try."

She laughed bitterly. "Sometimes I wish I could be more like you."

"Oh, there can be only one of _me_. However, I approve of you attempting to replicate some of my impeccable qualities. It wouldn't be easy, but I could apprentice you."

She laughed more naturally this time around. "Yes. Wouldn't you just love that? Me following you around, taking notes on your witty banter and flawless style."

"The idea has merit."

"Thank you. Perhaps another time."

The silence closed around them again. Dorian regarded her for a few moments before placing his book away from him completely.

"Come here."

Evana looked at him in confusion for a moment, but when he held out a hand to her, she took it. He easily pulled her small frame over and into his lap.

"Oooff! Dorian!" she huffed as her hands landed against his chest. "What are you doing?"

"You need to talk it out, and clearly the Commander has been slacking in his duties, likely due to your activities taking a rather more... physical turn. So, tell your best friend Dorian what's bothering you. I'd like to keep you from blowing up Skyhold if at all possible."

Evana blushed furiously at his mention of her relationship, but was quick to defend the Commander's honor. "He hasn't been slacking in his duties. We talk... it's just..."

She trailed off, and Dorian pulled her against him and tucked her head under his chin. After a second, he felt her relax into him.

"Go on, then. Get it off your chest."

She sighed. "I shouldn't be deciding whether to reveal the truth about a deity, Dorian - a deity I don't even believe in! The mark was a mistake. An accident. And because of an accident, I'm making momentous decisions about other people's religions? About their very lives? It would be easier if it were my own religion. I know I would want to hear the truth about the Creators, no matter the cost. But Leliana and Josephine are upset that we've taken away what little hope people had that the Maker was guiding our movements."

"And their belief that the Inquisition has accumulated power by divine right."

She chuckled wryly. "That, too."

"You said Cullen and Cassandra were with you in your decision, though."

"Two out of four isn't bad, hmmm?"

"I'm merely pointing out that you didn't overrule everyone to make your own decision. You took a side based on your own convictions. That's what a leader _should_ be and probably the best use of power I've seen in Thedas for quite some time. Certainly better than the ill-concealed and ill-conceived power politics of my homeland."

"But even after all we've accomplished, I still feel so unprepared! What if I make the wrong call and people get hurt? I make huge decisions every day that could lead to disaster. So many people follow and rely on me. I'm not their Herald anymore, but I'm still the Inquisitor. Ugh. And here I am complaining again instead of just accepting that this is my life. That this is normal."

Dorian laughed. "My dear little fool! What about any of this is normal? Who among your friends would ever fault you for asking for help or relying on us for counsel or support? That's why we're _here_. You're not meant to do this alone. And some of us happen to care about _you_ as well. I would much rather you come to us with your fears and insecurities than wield your power unapologetically. Will some see it as weakness? Undoubtedly. But they don't know you as we do. You're far from weak. You simply care. And there's absolutely nothing wrong with that."

Evana sat up and blinked before a slow, grateful smile spread across her face. "That was quite a serious little speech, Ser Pavus."

"Don't tell anyone. It would _ruin_ my reputation."

"My lips are sealed."

Dorian smiled and pulled her to his chest for a long moment... before wrapping an arm around her neck, mussing her hair, and then pushing her unceremoniously out of his lap. She gasped as she struggled for balance. Her typical gracefulness took a hit with her wobbles, but she finally found her footing and proceeded to shoot him a death stare. He laughed.

"Now, your first apprenticing lesson with the incomparable Dorian Pavus is that you should never apologize for yourself or for following the course you believe is right... even if you turn out to be wrong in the end."

"Oh, thank you for bestowing your infinite wisdom on an unworthy follower," she shot back in a sarcastic tone as she bobbed an exaggerated curtsey.

But her eyes were soft as she spoke. He saw the gratitude there... And waved it off.

"Go find Leliana and Josephine. Talk it out with them. I think you'll find things aren't as bad as they seem."

Evana looked out the window and shook her head. "Not today. Too much to do. And I need to meet with Commander Helaine and Cassandra for a lesson right now."

Dorian scoffed. "Less than one day back in Skyhold and the woman is already training again. Tell the truth. She's not really human, is she? Just a reanimated corpse. They do that kind of thing in Nevarra, right?"

She laughed. "Says the necromancer!"

"Hmmmm... Yes. Good point. That's why you're the Inquisitor, I suppose."

She laughed again as she turned to head down the stairs, and Dorian considered his job well done.

 

**

 

Later that day, Dorian finally put down his research and stretched out in his plush chair. The Commander's faint yells from the battlements - something about Sera and bees - had been the only thing to interrupt his afternoon.

Unfortunately, he hadn't learned much about how the southern mages dealt with lyrium. He'd learned a fair bit about templars and lyrium from querying Cullen all those months ago when they'd first discussed the commander's decision to give up the stuff. The templars, however, were in the business of creating the addiction, not weening away from it.

Dorian would simply have to wait for books on lyrium addiction in mages to arrive from Tevinter. Josephine had assured him it should only take a few weeks. In the meantime, he would continue reading what little material he had and see if the former Circle mages would mind setting up some experiments in the mage tower.

Flexing his stiff muscles, Dorian thought about doing some training but quickly discarded the idea in favor of a little wine and company in the great hall. Despite the extended reunion with Bull yesterday evening, Dorian surprised himself with his own eagerness to be in the Qunari's company once more.

He resolved not to look at that particular sentiment too closely. It was just sex, after all.

Varric and the Iron Bull had already claimed a table and sat waiting for the kitchen staff to begin serving dinner. Dorian started off toward another table, intending to swipe a couple of bottles of wine for their dinner. One bottle per table simply didn't cut it when you had a Qunari the size of a boat drinking with you. Bull's voice, however, stopped him before he got too far.

"I've got you covered, big guy."

Dorian glanced over to see three bottles of a rather good Orlesian vintage sitting on the table. His eyes lit up in spite of himself.

"Well, I won't say no to that. What's the occasion? Are we having a grand party to celebrate the perfectly awful fashion sense of Southerners?"

Bull shrugged. "Do I need an occasion to get a person something I know they'll enjoy?"

Dorian's hand froze as he reached for one of the bottles. He turned and looked at Bull curiously.

"I... suppose not. Thank you."

Bull just nodded and then waved toward the seat next to him. Dorian sat down as Bull opened one of the bottles and poured them all a glass. The wine proved to be an even better vintage than he'd supposed. He hummed his approval, slumping down in the chair as the burst of flavors slid over his tongue.

"Excellent."

"Glad you like it."

Dorian turned and smiled at Bull, but his mind flipped back and forth between pleased and confused. Bull had certainly been an attentive lover since their first drunken tryst on the road to Adamant, but he'd never given gifts or even talked about their time together as more than a physical relationship. As much as Dorian sometimes wondered what it might be like to have a grand, all-encompassing love like Cullen and Evana's, the giant mass of muscle before him didn't exactly fit the once-in-a-lifetime, love-of-your-life mold.

And he realized he'd have no idea how to behave in such a situation anyway. Much like he had no idea how to behave right now. Sex was simple. Relationships? With a Qunari, no less? Not so much. So, he did what he always did in awkward situations... Deflect.

"Varric, I heard a little gossip from the rookery that you have a lady friend hidden here in Skyhold somewhere. Someone by the name of... Bianca?"

Varric just rolled his eyes. "She's already gone. We're meeting her in a week at an entrance to the Deep Roads to check out another source of red lyrium." He looked to Bull. "I think we're going to meet up with your Qunari friends at the Storm Coast to root out some Venatori scum, too, right?"

Bull nodded. "Yeah. Boss and Red got it all figured. The Chargers will meet us there. And I heard something about Cassandra coming along to follow up on Leliana's intel about the Seekers."

"Well, sounds like you all have a full party," Dorian said with faux disappointment. "I'll just have to stay behind and cheer you on from my chair in the library."

"Don't sound so disappointed, Sparkler, or I'll ask the Inquisitor to make it a party of five."

Dorian sat forward and scowled at the dwarf. "Don't you dare! I just got back from the most boring and exhausting travel of my life. I'm going to spend the next couple of weeks going _nowhere_."

Dorian was startled to feel Bull's hand settle gently on his stiff back. The action seemed so natural, and the Qunari's voice sounded almost... affectionate as he attempted to placate Dorian.

"He's just teasing, Dorian."

"The utter misery of traveling with uncouth soldiers is no joke, I assure you. Beware, dwarf. I know spells that could melt that chest hair right off you."

Varric laughed, and Dorian settled back in his chair with a smirk. He expected Bull to remove his hand, and he did, but only in order to drape an arm over Dorian's shoulders as he leaned back in his own chair. Dorian's chest and neck warmed at the brazen display.

Dorian didn't move, though, because as uncomfortable as it made him, the simple action also warmed a part of his heart heretofore untouched by any man... save his first and most foolish love. That same man had also been the first to break Dorian's heart into a thousand pieces. When Dorian had put as much of his heart back together as he dared, he'd locked it away along with the piece of himself that belonged to his father.

Now, it seemed that unlocking his heart to forgive his father might've allowed him to form some sort of... attachment to Bull. And he was beginning to think Bull might feel the same.

_A Qunari with a heart. Will wonders never cease?_

"So, Bull, what do you _really_ think of this Qunari alliance."

Varric's question pulled Dorian from his thoughts. Bull took another sip of wine - something Dorian had demanded of the Qunari after enduring one too many gulps and slurps - and shrugged.

"Like I told Boss, they understand the danger and everything is on the up and up. No tricks this time. It's a true Qunari alliance." Bull shook his head. "Never expected to even _think_ those words, let alone _say_ them."

"Buuut?" Varric intoned.

Bull shrugged. "It's just been awhile. I've been on my own, doing things my own way. To have the Qunari here... among us... Look, the Qun answers a lot of questions. It's a good life for a lot of people. But this feels... like it's paving the road for a takeover down the line. They aren't planning anything, yet. But once they're here and moving throughout Ferelden and Orlais..."

"And you talked to the Inquisitor about this, right?" Varric prodded. "She knows what could be in store?"

"Yeah, yeah. Of course. Like I said - all on the up and up for now. I think she's planning to worry about a possible Qunari takeover _after_ we're sure the world won't end."

Dorian shook his head, confused. "Silly me - I thought you'd _want_ them to take over. That's why you're here as a spy, correct? Or are you simply hanging around for the fine wine and good company?"

"The company is good," Bull acknowledged before leaning down to murmur " _very_ good" in Dorian's ear. He lifted his head and continued on in a normal voice, "but it's a big change. And a lot of folks here wouldn't do so well under that kind of life."

Dorian's face burned from the whispered comment even as his mind twisted and bent in an attempt to comprehend the contradictions in Bull's statement.

"So... you believe in the Qun. You're here to spread the Qun. But the reality of the Qunari here and potentially able to subjugate the populace is disquieting to you?"

Bull looked uncomfortable for a moment. Finally, he responded in a subdued voice.

"That about covers it."

"That's not very Qunari of you," Dorian observed. He thought Bull might be offended, but the other man only sighed.

"I've noticed. I care too much about... people in my life. I shouldn't. The fact that I'm doubting the propagation of the Qun at all-"

"Makes you all the more attractive to me," Dorian interrupted without really thinking about it.

Bull dropped his arm from Dorian's shoulders and turned in his chair to lock his good eye on Dorian. The air shifted palpably. Bull's demeanor turned hesitant, and Dorian felt the heat creeping back into his face.

"Is that so?" Bull murmured.

"Of course," Dorian squeaked in return.

_Fasta vass, what have I gotten myself into?_ With Bull's eye still trained on him, Dorian used his wine as an excuse to look away and take another sip. He delicately set the glass back on the table before turning to face the Qunari's now inscrutable gaze. Dorian just stared at him for a moment before clearing his throat.

"As backward as my southern friends can be, I'm hardly going to sit back and watch the Qunari take over their home. That would make us enemies, and I'd rather not, if you don't mind. Is that a problem?"

"Uh," Bull finally looked away. "Not necessarily."

"As long as the Qunari don't actually _invade_ , we're good, hmmm? We can continue this lovely charade that you actually care?"

Dorian couldn't suppress the bitterness in his voice as cold, hard reality shattered the fantasy world he'd allowed himself to construct within the walls of Skyhold. The Inquisition had a way of lulling a person into a false sense security. As key members of the powerful organization, their inner circle could rise above their stereotypes and interact as agents of change and doers of good deeds instead of being cast aside as unwelcome.

But in reality, only the advisors and possibly Cassandra and Blackwall had the luxury of being able to walk unmolested within normal society. And that was nothing compared to the restrictions they each put on themselves.

For Bull, the Qun demanded absolute adherence. Only a fool would believe that an open follower of the Qun could be truly devoted to another person. To devote himself to Dorian would require Bull give up the Qun.

It would also require Dorian to trust again. Something he wasn't sure he could do. The conversation he'd had with Evana about relationships suddenly and forcefully came to mind. _Desire and attraction are not the same thing as love, Dorian. Love requires sacrifice._

Bull still hadn't responded. So, Dorian once again took the opportunity to deflect.

"Our Commander had an exciting day today if I heard correctly. Sera strikes again?"

Varric, who had been awkwardly silent during the previous interaction, looked relieved by the change in subject. "Yeah. She apparently snuck bees into his practice dummy. I'm a smuggler, and even I have no idea how a person manages something like that. If anyone could, though, it's Sera."

"Well, as our Commander is rarely in his own quarters at night anymore, she certainly had ample opportunity."

Varric laughed heartily at this, but Dorian's heart kicked painfully - in guilt? concern? - to find Bull no longer participating in the conversation. He seemed almost... sullen as he sat back and sipped on his wine. Dorian tried to remember a time he'd seen Bull in this kind of mood. Nothing came to mind.

Just then, the dinner bell rang, and the next few minutes were a flurry of activity as the servers brought out the food. The great hall filled in with visiting nobles, Lieutenants and other officers as well as a few of the skilled trades persons. Cassandra entered and sat down with them. Sera joined a few minutes later, and the conversation turned decidedly... less sane and more about bees. Dorian made a game to count the number of times Cassandra rolled her eyes at Sera. He'd have to share the results with Varric later.

Before the end of the meal, Bull got up from the table and nodded to them all. He walked away slowly, but Dorian felt no urge to follow. His heart, while touched, was still his own. But following Bull and making the Qunari express himself... that could take them down a road neither of them were willing or able to walk. Bull would always put the Qun above everything and everyone else, and Dorian wasn't about to risk his heart for such an obvious disaster in the making.

So, he sat, drank his wine and tried to forget where that lovely vintage had come from in the first place.


	69. In which outside perspectives lead to different conclusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Sera, Cullen and Evana get a night in all to themselves. They make good use of it... with a little real talk followed by a story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of fluff ahead, y'all. I'm not sorry. Lots of backstory/world building for Evana, too. I experimented a little with the story within the story, so let me know if there are confusing bits!

Cullen muttered under his breath as he directed placement of the new dummy in the corner of his office. The buzzing in his ears _hadn't_ been a withdrawal symptom after all. One ill-placed knife-throw later, his whole office had been covered in bees. Luckily, he'd escaped without injury, but the poor soldiers who'd thrown the old dummy over the edge of the battlements hadn't fared so well. One had even ended up in the infirmary, swollen up like an overfed nug.

Even after several hours with all the doors open, bees still buzzed about the room. Dodging them as best he could, Cullen grabbed his papers off the desk and hurried out the door into the coolness of the evening. Malia stood at the other end of the bridge and watched him approach.

"Is it safe, Commander?"

"No," he growled as he passed by without really looking at her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malia take a step back from him. He paused, turned back to her and sighed. Tempering his tone, he elaborated.

"The Inquisitor has offered me the use of her desk, so that's where I'll be for the rest of the evening. Please bring any _urgent_ messages to me there."

Malia nodded. "Yes, ser."

Tightening his grip on the piles of paper under his arm, Cullen strode through the rotunda, into the great hall and up to the Inquisitor's quarters. She wasn't there, but she'd cleared her desk for him, her own paperwork piled neatly on the small table near her couch. Her desk was smaller, but it would do. Only some requisitions, a few letters, and a new round of orders for his lieutenants remained before he caught up with the day's work. It felt like a miracle after all that had happened to distract him.

Although he'd softened toward Sera a bit since Adamant, the prank grated on him. The incident had cost the Inquisition valuable time, and he'd been vocal about his disapproval. Perhaps a bit too vocal after catching sight of Sera on a roof across the way, cackling like a mad thing.

Evana had pulled him aside and calmed his frazzled nerves with the welcome distraction her body provided. Then, she'd insisted he use her desk for the evening. She knew him well enough to understand the real cause of his frustration. Lost time. Wasted effort.

Now she was speaking with Fiona about some matter concerning a child in the care of the mages. The things she did naturally - small things that endeared her to those under her command - never ceased to amaze him. And the things she did for him... he could still taste her mint tea on his lips from their earlier tryst - the only good thing to come out of Sera's prank.

With another sigh, he lit the candles, sat down and got to work. He'd worked through almost all the requisitions and had started on the correspondence when he heard the soft click of the door below. If he'd heard footsteps, he might have worried about a messenger, but the silence as well as the slight tingle of her magic gave her away. He called to her before she crested the staircase.

"Good evening, love."

Her face appeared above the bannister a few moments later, and she smiled broadly at him. "Good evening. Are you getting enough accomplished here? I know it's probably not as comfortable as being in your own office."

"I am. And I've had no disruptions, either, likely thanks to Malia."

"I rather like Malia. It's good to know someone is taking care of you when I can't."

She winked at him as she walked to her bed and sat down to take off her boots. Cullen huffed a little bit at her insinuation that he couldn't take care of himself but sent her a smile to show it was all in jest.

In truth, he'd come to appreciate Malia as well. Her remaining timidity still exasperated him at times, but even that had improved over the last few weeks as she got to know him and his habits better. He relied on her much more than he would have anticipated - she brought him food when he forgot to eat, reminded him of meetings if he got too absorbed in his work and played gatekeeper when he needed to concentrate.

Pulling himself from his thoughts, he watched Evana unlace her boots. The act shouldn't have been alluring, but anything involving her taking clothing off her body... He cleared his throat to interrupt his own thoughts.

"I hope it's not too bothersome, but I've still got some work to do."  
  
"Oh, that's alright. I've got a fair-sized pile of work to finish up myself. Unlike you, however, I plan to get comfortable."

She winked at him again, and he could only stare as she started unbuttoning her top as she walked into her closet. Did it suddenly get warmer? Cullen looked down at his heavy armor and shrugged. No one would likely bother either of them this late in the evening. He stood and began unbuckling his armor.

"Do we need to get you an armor stand, 'ma lath?"

Her muffled question from the closet caused him to pause midway through unbuckling his cuirass. If they were really going to do this - share quarters - it _would_ be nice to have a few of his things here. He didn't need much.

"I... uh... I suppose that would be nice. And... perhaps a small trunk or a couple of drawers... if that's not too much."

She laughed heartily as she emerged from the closet in light gray wool leggings and a long wool tunic. Her hair fell in soft, silver waves around her face. A hand swept around the enormous room as she walked to stand in front of him.

"I think we've got a place or two we might put something like that, yes."

The spacious room grew warmer with her so close. Cullen laughed with her and continued removing his armor while she moved around to put the kettle on the fire. He watched her movements, light and graceful, bare feet skimming silently over carpet and stone as his own hands worked the buckles and clasps automatically. Soon, he was down to his breeches and tunic. Coming up behind her, he wrapped his arms loosely around her waist and buried his face in her hair.

"Another good thing that came of Sera's prank - an evening with you. I find I'm less annoyed with her than before."

She hummed and then turned in his arms to kiss him. His blood sang with anticipation, but he kept the kiss gentle. They both had work to do, and there would be time for that later. Pulling away, they went about their now familiar routine of preparing the tea. She retrieved the mugs, he took the box from the mantle and opened it to grab the pouch. He paused, however, when he noticed a new bag in the box. Curious, he lifted it from the box and held it up.

"Different kind of tea?"

She flushed bright red immediately and grabbed the pouch from him. "I- uh... that's special tea just for me. Probably best if you don't drink it."

Cullen wasn't sure how to respond, but immediately, worry began gnawing at him. A special tea? Just for her? Was she ill?

"Ah. I see." Even though he didn't. "We'll just have our normal tea, then?"

He held out the box. She nodded and quickly exchanged one pouch for the other. He closed the box and set it back on the mantle, and the moment seemed to pass. The heightened color faded from her cheeks as she carefully poured the leaves of the calming tea into the mugs.

She didn't look sick, but it occurred to him that she'd begun to look rather worn in the last few months, especially after the fall of Haven - after her encounter with Corypheus. He tried to recall how she'd looked when he first met her in the soft candlelight of the war room in Haven. She'd been lean and healthy... but not nearly so thin as she was now. He vaguely recalled something about Bull forcing her to eat. And they had only been back from the Approach for a few days now where she'd absorbed several new types of magical resistance. It hadn't made her ill this time... but what if the effects were simply taking longer to manifest?

The worry ate at him further as he noticed the lines on her face, the sharpened angles of her body and the way she held herself - as if in constant readiness for the next problem, the next horror, the next decision. Maybe he should ask Bull if he knew if anything was going on? The Qunari was a spy after all and had been with her most recently. If anyone knew, it would be him.

 _Or you could just ask_ her _, you coward_. _If you can't ask her yourself at this point, what are you even doing in a relationship?_

"Um..."

The sound fell from his mouth before he could think about it further. Evana turned to look at him expectantly, and his heart leapt in his chest. Now he _had_ to say something. Her eyes were bright in the firelight, but the exhaustion she'd come home with hadn't left her, yet. The sight only steeled his resolve.

"Are you... feeling well?"

Her expression turned faintly bemused. "As well as can be expected. Always better when I'm with you."

He sent her a half grin, but it fell quickly into a look of concern. "Yes, but... are you _well_?"

Her brow furrowed further as her confusion grew, and she moved to stand in front of him near the fire. "What do you mean, vhenan? Clearly, you have something in mind."

He raised a hand to gently sweep the back of his fingers over her cheek. "I've just... you seem... you would tell me if you were unwell, wouldn't you?"

"Of course," she replied without hesitation. "I wouldn't miss out on an opportunity for you to take care of me as you did the last time." Moving closer to him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest. "I would never want to go through anything like that alone."

He breathed a sigh of relief and wrapped his arms around her, resting his cheek on the crown of her head. One more question, and then they could get back to work.

"Then... the tea?"

She tensed a little and laughed. "Oh... I thought you'd know..."

Pulling away, he saw her face had gone red again. She was looking down but glanced up at him through her lashes before looking away again.

"Remember when I said we wouldn't... I wouldn't have a child until we were ready?"

"Yes, but-"

Suddenly, it clicked. _Maker_. His face flushed along with hers as he pulled her against him again.

"Oh... I... that's good."

She hummed out a laugh. "You'd think with as much as we've been... together in the last few days, this wouldn't be that awkward."

He gave a huff of embarrassed amusement and squeezed her more tightly. "You would think. I suppose I'm simply not used to... having anything like this to talk _about_."

"Me neither."

They stood there, wrapped up in each other, until the boiling of the kettle forced them to move. She shot him a shy smile, and he gave her a lopsided grin in return as he retrieved the kettle and poured the water. Again, he was caught up in her movements as she turned to arrange her paperwork on the table by the couch. So graceful... so beautiful...

_How am I going to concentrate?_

Cullen put the kettle on the hearth and handed her a mug. "I suppose we should get to work?"

He hadn't meant it to come out as a question, but he was rewarded nonetheless by her patting the couch beside her.

"In a bit. I want to enjoy a moment with you, if that's alright?"

His face softened at the hesitant tone in her voice. "I'd like nothing more."

He sat next to her, and she scooted closer to him as he raised his arm to curl it around her. A familiar hum of contentment vibrated against his side as she exhaled. They had so few moments like this, but he found that the simple quiet of an evening with her had become more precious to him than almost anything else. They knew one another well enough now to anticipate the needs and desires of the other. Conveniently, their needs and desires often coincided - a quiet evening, a good talk, a greater purpose, a feeling of usefulness. The more he got to know Evana, the less inclined he was to deny the involvement of the Maker in bringing them together. She was just so... perfect for him. As if reading his thoughts, she gave another sigh of contentment.

"I love this," she murmured into his chest. "For a moment, here with you, I almost feel like a normal person with a normal life."

He kissed the top of her head and tightened his hold on her slightly. "What was a normal evening for you before the Inquisition?"

She shrugged and pulled back to look up at him. "Not much different than this... but outside. And there were more people around me. And often there was singing or storytelling." She gave a short laugh and shook her head. "Ok, so perhaps it was a lot different than this, but the feeling is the same. The hahren would take turns retelling stories to the children so the tales of our people would be remembered. I had learned them long ago, of course, but each telling brought a new understanding. On warm nights, we would all stretch out and bask in the starlight, listening to the stories and later the whispers of the trees as most of the clan drifted to sleep."

"Sounds peaceful."

"Most of the time, yes. But with that many people, it could also be loud. I often ended up on the edges of the encampment. On the coldest nights, my mother and I would share an aravel, and she would tell me her own stories. Ones that the hahren didn't tell."

Evana's face took on a far-away look as she turned her head and stared into the fire. He hesitated to interrupt her reverie, but he couldn't resist such an opening.

"What kind of stories?"

Evana shook her head slightly and turned back to him. "Just hunting stories from her younger days."

"From when she went off by herself?"

"Often, yes."

Tension crept into her shoulders as he questioned her. But he wanted so desperately to know as much about her as possible.

"Will you tell me one of your mother's stories?"

She laid her head on his chest, and he could no longer see her face. The tension remained, however, as she took a deep breath. The silence dragged on, and Cullen began to regret asking.

"You don't have-"

"No, no. It's alright. I'm just trying to remember a whole story. It's been years since I've heard any of them."

Cullen raised his mug and took a long, slow sip to delay an answer. He wasn't sure what to say. Finally, he lowered the mug.

"If you can't remember, that's fine. I was merely curious."

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. "I know, vhenan."

An awkward silence descended between them - or it felt awkward to him, anyway. The air grew thick and heavy with unspoken words. He shifted slightly in his seat and felt her grab a fist full of his tunic, as if she were afraid he would try to get up. His natural reaction was to pull her tighter against him, and instantly, all the tension ebbed from her body and from the air.

Then, she began speaking.

"When my mother was around the age of 17, our clan settled in the very southern reaches of the Green Dales, northwest of Markham. She had been hunting with the clan for several years, and had already developed her habit of slipping into the forests to hunt alone. So, with nothing but the hills and the trees for company, she set off to memorize the terrain and learn the habits of the animals."

"When she finally returned to the clan three weeks later, she found nothing but bits of scorched earth and a couple of fresh graves. They were not traditional Dalish graves, however."

"Graves of the attackers?"

"That is what she presumed as well. Regardless, the clan had moved on without her out of necessity, and a Dalish clan can be hard to track even if you know what to look for. She spent the next two days searching for signs. Finally, in a small meadow, aravel tracks stood out faintly in soft earth. Following, she moved deeper into the forest. Each time she thought she'd lost the track, she'd find a small sign that kept her moving. She knew then that the other hunters were leaving her trail."

"On the third day of tracking, she came across a small house in the center of a clearing. Clan Lavellan's practice at the time was to keep our distance from any human settlements, but she was desperate for information. She hadn't found any tracks since the evening before. So, before she could talk herself out of it, she went up and knocked on the door."

"A little of that unconventional spirit you'd mentioned?" Cullen asked.

Evana hummed in amusement. "I suppose so, yes. No one else in the clan would have done it, that's for certain. So, she knocked on the door. No one answered, but she heard faint sounds of movement within. With her second knock, she tentatively announced herself. In an instant, the door opened, and before she could react, a gaunt, pale hand pulled her into the house."

Cullen tensed. He knew her mother survived, obviously, but this story was a little more suspenseful than he'd anticipated.

"Mother fell to the floor, but quickly righted herself while pulling out her daggers. A small scream alerted her to the direction of her supposed attacker, but she pulled up short when she took in the tiny human woman holding a broom in front of her in a defensive posture. Everything about the woman shouted deprivation. Her skin hung off her bones, eyes sunken, shoulders hunched. A yellowing ring around her eye and sickly purple mark across her cheek told a story of abuse as well. My mother immediately sheathed her daggers and held up her hands."

"'I mean you no harm,' she said. 'I am looking for my clan. I believe they passed this way a day or two ago. Have you seen any elves around recently?'"

Evana's voice changed as she spoke her mother's words - a languid tone but also firm and unyielding. Cullen had a feeling it was a fairly accurate impression. He smiled to himself but did not interrupt.

"The woman shook her head and hissed, 'Are you mad! My husband will skin you alive if he sees you.'"

"My mother, the even-headed and somewhat blunt pragmatist, replied, 'I would like to see him try. If you were so concerned, why did you pull me in here with you?'"

"The woman slowly lowered the broom. She looked as if she might collapse at any moment, so mother approached and helped her to a chair. The woman - who introduced herself as Arabella - proceeded to explain that she'd locked her husband out a week ago after he nearly killed her. She'd been rationing food but was quickly running out."

"'So why open the door for me?' Mother asked again."

"Arabella remained silent a moment but finally responded, 'I knew he'd kill you if he saw you. I- I couldn't stand the thought of him hurting anyone else because he's mad at me.'"

"Mother gave Arabella long, hard look. She could leave the woman to her fate, but something in Arabella's eyes left her uneasy. The woman would surely die - or more likely, be murdered - if Mother didn't help her. It would no doubt mean losing track of her clan, but such a defenseless being was too pitiable to leave in such a way, especially after the woman had risked opening the door to protect Mother. So, she crouched in front of the woman and took one of the gaunt hands in her own."

"'Do you want to leave him?' she asked."

"Arabella looked up with sickeningly desperate hope burning in her eyes. 'Yes. Maker forgive me. Yes.'"

"'Do you have someone to go to?'"

"Arabella nodded. 'My brother. He told me not to marry Rayden, but I didn't listen. I'm sure he will take me in, though.'"

"Satisfied, Mother stood up to leave, but Arabella begged her not to go. 'You'll be killed.'"

"Mother patted the thin hand again. 'Do not trouble yourself. I know how to handle shemlen men. Lock this door tight again after I leave. Gather all the things you wish to take with you and be ready for my return. Do not open the door to anyone but me.'"

"Mother then slipped out the door and quickly hid herself in the forest, scouting for a place to safely observe the house. She found a spot close by, and she waited."

"This is where the patience learned from hunting comes in, I suppose," Cullen remarked.

"Mmm-hmm," Evana agreed.

Cullen bit back a laugh at her distracted tone. For all her reticence, she had quickly become engrossed in telling him her mother's story. He feathered a kiss across her temple as she continued speaking.

"She waited for the rest of the day, and finally, a man appeared just before sunset. He was everything Mother had come to expect from humans. He yelled obscenities, threats, and put-downs while pounding on the door, throwing himself against it now and then. The door held against the onslaught for more than an hour."

"Finally, he seemed to tire of the activity and wandered off again. Mother cloaked herself and quietly followed him to a small campsite just down the hill from the clearing. She hid in a tree and watched until he fell asleep. Then, she pulled her hood over her head, placed a knife in her teeth and silently bound his hands and feet. She had been prepared for him to wake at any moment, but he didn't. So, she sheathed her knife and returned to the house to collect Arabella.

"The two women walked for hours, but Arabella was too weak to go very far at once. They rested for a few hours before moving on, and Arabella guided their travel in the direction of the nearest village."

"The next day, they came across a tiny village, and Arabella asked for directions while Mother stayed hidden on the outskirts. Arabella came back with provisions and directions to the town where she could find her brother. After two more days of travel, Mother began to lose hope that she would ever find Clan Lavellan again. However, she couldn't bring herself to be upset that she'd helped the poor woman, nor could she stomach leaving the woman on her own after coming this far with her."

"After a time, Arabella began to show signs of excitement. She revealed that the landscape was beginning to look familiar. In another few miles, they reached the village Arabella had called home before her marriage. Mother attempted to leave then, but Arabella wouldn't hear of it."

"'You must come meet my brother. He will want to thank you!'"

"But Mother had never met a human man who wasn't trying to kill her, so she resisted the other woman's pleas. As they spoke, a man approached them, but to Mother's surprise, he didn't look at her at all. His eyes focused totally on Arabella."

"'Arabella?' he asked in an incredulous tone."

"Arabella yelled out 'Antone!' and ran to him."

"'I thought for sure he would have killed you by now!' Antone sobbed into Arabella's shoulder."

"Mother tried to slip away, but Arabella had become familiar with Mother's skittish ways and caught her before she could leave."

"'Brother, meet my savior, Irrida Lavellan. She helped me escape and brought me here. I would have died without her.'"

"Antone gave Mother a deep bow. 'I am honored, Irrida Lavellan. Will you not join us in a celebratory dinner?'"

"Mother tried to refuse, but with brother and sister both encouraging her, she finally gave in. She was hungry, after all, and it would likely take her weeks, if not months, to track down the clan. She would build her strength while she could."

"The two humans were curious and attentive to their guest, and after hearing her story, Antone offered to help her track her clan. Arabella insisted Mother stay with them until her clan was located. Impressed by the kindness and ingenuousness of the siblings, she stayed."

"It took six weeks for any word to reach them about Clan Lavellan. In that time, Arabella's husband caught up with them... but..."

Evana stopped. She pulled away and finally looked at Cullen. He couldn't read her expression, but a glimmer of sadness flickered in her eyes before she smiled at him.

"But that is a whole other story, and I've kept us away from our work long enough."

Although she didn't prompt him, her demeanor turned expectant. Cullen paused to gather his thoughts. He wanted to encourage her to share more of herself, but he also wanted to be honest.

"I'll admit, that wasn't the story I expected, though I couldn't tell you what I _was_ expecting. It's... interesting."

Evana cocked her head quizzically. "How so?"

"From your descriptions of your clan's views on humans, I didn't expect your mother would be telling you bedtime stories about how kind and generous we are."

Evana just stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. Finally, blinked and shook her head.

"No... no, it was meant to show the cruelty of Arabella's husband... and I... I don't think..."

Cullen watched her face contort as she wrapped her mind around his words. Clearly, she'd never thought of the story in such a way.

"Do Arabella and Antone turn into villains later on? Do they betray your mother in some way?"

"Noooo," she said slowly. "No, never. They were always kind and... they..."

She trailed off again, her eyes turning toward the fire as she pondered his words. He allowed her a moment before speaking his thoughts.

"Perhaps your mother isn't quite as anti-human as you thought? She didn't kill Arabella's husband, though she easily could have, and she stayed with the siblings for nearly two months. That's long enough to get to know them - to come to respect them."

Evana's mouth opened and closed a few times before she finally admitted, "I... suppose. Perhaps. That could be true."

Her tone betrayed her skepticism, but Cullen couldn't see it any other way. Why would her mother so blatantly tell a story about helpful and good humans? Of course, the husband wasn't a shining example of humanity, but elves already knew about those kinds of humans. Irrida Lavellan had gone out of her way to tell her daughter stories about real humans who had helped her in a time of need. There had to be a reason for it.

"I'll never meet your mother, will I?" he asked softly.

Evana frowned. "It's not likely. Especially if..."

"If your clan does, in fact, know we're together?"

She smiled wanly. "Yes... But let's not think on that anymore. Please? Not with my future so uncertain. I just want to enjoy my time here with you as much as possible before I have to go be the Inquisitor again."

Cullen relented and pulled her against him once more. "As you wish, my lady. May I ask you one more question, though? It's not related to your mother, I promise."

Evana chuckled lightly, her body molding to his. "Alright, then."

"I've been curious for some time now. All those months ago - when I made that misstep concerning contacting your clan - why did you confide in me? You could have easily deflected and blamed your reaction on the typical Dalish and human hostilities. Why did you bother to tell me your story?"

She looked up and gave him that soft smile. "Because you were the first person to ask me about my clan. About my life. Josie asked basic questions, but your questions... When we talked - really talked - for the first time in the tavern, you asked me about being First and about my faith. You seemed truly interested. I guess I wanted you to understand. And you seemed to _want_ to understand."

Cullen smiled back at her. "I did. I still do. I want to know everything about you. If I'd known then that I'd eventually win your love..."

He stopped and just smiled at her.

"What?"

Her face and tone reflected her curiosity. He bent down for a quick kiss and then rested his forehead on hers.

"I'd have told you far sooner how much I cared for you, even before I knew I loved you."

"Hmmmm... And just when _did_ you know you loved me?"

The question was innocuous and her tone a little teasing, but Cullen drew a deep breath as the images, feelings and emotions of that day flashed through his consciousness. The attack, the dragon, her sacrifice and thinking the worst for hours and hours on end... then finding her miraculously alive, but close enough to death that his heart ached to remember it.

"In the Chantry. During our last stand at Haven. When you offered up yourself to save everyone. I knew in that moment what I felt was far more than simply caring for you more than I should..."

Evana looked up at him, eyes wide with shock. "The attack on Haven? But... you barely spoke to me after that!"

"I couldn't. For the longest time, I couldn't look at you without seeing you lifeless in my arms as I carried you back to camp. It was simply too much."

She raised her hand to his face. "I wish I'd known. I wanted to be in your company, but I was just making you miserable." Then she gave him a wicked grin. "You'll be happy to know that's exactly what Dorian said, though. Something about too many emotions for your templar brain."

He gave her a long-suffering sigh. "Our _friends_... But no, you shouldn't feel bad. I liked having you in my sight, even if it did bring up difficult memories. If I could see you, it meant you were safe."

"Thanks to you, ma sa'lath."

Suddenly, Cullen felt that they'd done enough talking. He claimed her lips, and all thoughts of work were forgotten as they made their way to the bed. He let himself drown in the curves of her body, the lines of her scars, the silk of her skin until he could think of nothing but the two of them, there, wrapped up in each other. And he could almost pretend he was a normal person with a normal life... with her.

 _Someday_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those who are also reading THTBLHL - sorry for the continued delay. I'm slowly working on Chapter 25, and I think I've finally hit a break-through on the flow of the second half of the story. I hope to have an update posted sometime this week. Regardless, big stuff ahead for both Trice and Rylen!


	70. In which battling self-doubt demands constant vigilance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evana has a bad day... and a startling realization.

Darkness pressed down on Evana as she lay awake in Cullen's arms. He had long ago fallen into a deep sleep, his arm resting heavily on her torso and his slow, even breaths fanning her neck. But Evana remained wide awake. Cullen's words echoed over again in her head, and she marveled anew at their widely different views of the story.

Evana had scoured her memory for the least offensive of her mother's stories about humans, though she'd still feared his reaction. But Cullen, with his human viewpoint, had heard an entirely different story than the one she thought she'd been telling - a story of trusting in humans and being _rewarded_ , not betrayed, a story of kind humans who never once betrayed her mother or asked for any kind of compensation. Which only begged the question...

How had she missed something so _obvious_?

The answer, of course, lay in the way her clan traditionally spoke about humans. She had naturally gravitated toward an interpretation that emphasized the evil in humans and dismissed the generosity or ignored it altogether. She had heard what they taught her to hear - humans were bad.

But her mother had experienced humanity at its best, though only because she'd accepted their help in the first place - something a "proper" Dalish elf never would have done. She could have easily left Arabella to her fate, and no one in the clan would have blamed her. In fact, they would have encouraged it.

Evana wondered suddenly if her mother had even told the rest of the clan where she'd been all those weeks. Was Evana the only one who knew?

She furiously tried to remember every story her mother told her on those cold nights in the forests of the Free Marches. As she recalled each story, she let out a quiet gasp of wonder. Her mother had helped Arabella escape and later defend herself from her abusive husband. She had assisted a farmer whose home had been ravaged by marauding bandits. Her dealings with groups of merchants as she sold or traded hides had contained examples of fair and equitable traders as well as swindlers.

It was all there. The good and the bad - the _realness -_ of her stories stood out among the cautionary tales told by the clan elders. Her mother had been explained the world as it really was, not how elves imagined it to be.

Is that where Evana's discontent had begun? Her feeling of not quite fitting in? Her mother had shared those stories with her starting at a very young age, and though she had not consciously recognized the positive aspects of the story, they _must_ have left an impression.

The stillness of the keep revealed the lateness of the hour, and Evana let out another quiet breath. Her brain reeled from the revelations of the evening - and all because she'd decided to tell the story of Arabella and Antone. The first part of it anyway. Her mother had actually told many stories about her interactions with the two humans. She'd never called them her friends, but now... knowing what Evana knew of friendship...

Her mother had been _friends_ with humans... for _years_.

Twinges of exhaustion flickered through her body and her eyes drooped shut, but her mind raced on. What had made her mother trust Arabella and Antone? Evana had always viewed her mother as closed off and cold, but was there a reason for her behavior?

She let out a small huff of frustration and then froze as she heard Cullen shift behind her. He muttered something softly as his arm moved more firmly around her, and a hand reached up to slide under her side, palm lightly cupping her naked breast. His face pressed more firmly against her neck, and his lips ghosted across her bare shoulder.

She smiled into her pillow as her thoughts shifted to the human wrapped so tightly around her. His breathing quickly fell into an even rhythm once more - he'd probably barely woken to begin with - but even while half asleep, he was nothing but tender and loving toward her. His troops might have a different impression of him, but to her, Cullen was the epitome of the human spirit - strong, kind, honorable, determined...

However, he'd once told her that if they'd met at an earlier time in his life, he wasn't sure he would have cared for her. That his anger and bitterness about what had happened to him might have blinded him to her worth.

Now she wondered... had she narrowly missed being blinded by her own prejudices? If her mother hadn't told her those stories as a child, if Irrida Lavellan hadn't primed her daughter to think of humans as people capable of both good and evil - just like everyone else - would _she_ have cared for _Cullen_? And even if she'd come to care for him, would she have kept it to herself in obedience to the rules of her clan?

In another life, would she have chosen Solas over Cullen?

She buried her head further into her pillow. As much as she respected Solas and all her other friends, none of them understood her like Cullen. To think she would have missed out on the comfort and love he offered simply because elves were forbidden to consort with humans... it cut her to the core. Even if they exiled from her clan and never allowed her to see Keeper or her mother ever again, she'd do it all over again if it meant spending the rest of her days with Cullen. With a human. With a wonderful, beautiful, loving human.

As she continued to ponder the implications of her mother's stories and her own life, her thoughts began to fragment. The drowsiness finally took over, and she dozed as the thoughts morphed and distilled into snippets of dreams. Her final conscious thought before she slipped into an uneasy slumber, however, flashed clear and unequivocal through the mess of thoughts.

She needed to write her mother a letter.

 

**

 

Evana watched from the warm cocoon of her blankets as Cullen dressed himself for the day. She'd woken to feel him untangling his limbs from hers, so she assumed he'd had no nightmares and had gotten a rare night of uninterrupted sleep.

Although Adamant had taken its toll on all of them, the other advisors had notified her discreetly of his prolonged withdrawal episode in the weeks after the battle. He'd hidden it well, but over the past few days, she'd noticed his looser-fitting tunics, the darker circles under his eyes, and the relative shortness to his temper. Evana had vowed to do everything in her power to encourage him to slow down and relax - and to make sure Malia kept him fed.

If the last few days were any indication, she'd been quite successful at the relaxation part.

Cullen wasn't aware she was watching him - not yet, anyway - so she stared at him in blatant appreciation of how his biceps and abs rippled while he laced up his breeches, how his tunic clung to his body as he pulled it over his head and how efficiently his fingers worked the buckles and snaps of his doublet and armor. The sun had not yet risen over the mountains, but the diffused light of the brightened sky gave her ample light to appreciate the hard, chiseled lines and broad shoulders of her lover. He turned to glance at her as he pulled on his mantle, and the surprised look quickly morphed into a smirk as he walked over to sit on the bed.

"I thought I felt eyes on me."

"Mmmm... you would feel a lot more than eyes if we had more time this morning."

Cullen quirked an eyebrow, but his smirked faded as he sighed heavily. "Unfortunately, I've got early reports with my lieutenants. I'm already too late to run to the valley for morning drills, but there's still morning exercises with the officers. And then there's the paperwork I didn't finish last night."

Evana blushed slightly as he gave her another smirk. The previous evening's activities and conversations threatened to distract her from the man right in front of her, so she moved on to another topic and forced herself to focus.

"Do you think the bees will be gone today?"

That wiped the smirk from his face. "Maker, one can only hope. That woman will be the death of me. Unless I murder her first."

Evana snorted at his comment but said nothing further. She just looked at him tenderly. His gaze faltered under her appraisal, but he seemed to steel himself and met her eyes again. She smiled while internally berating herself at how easily she lost herself in his eyes. He cleared his throat softly, jolting her from her distraction.

"Uh... Are you practicing with Cassandra again today?" he asked.

She nodded and sat up, holding the blankets close to stay warm in the chilled room. "Yes. And Commander Helaine. My Knight Enchanter specialization is going well, but I didn't get much practice in the Wastes. Cassandra is a great teacher, though. I have no doubt I'll be swinging a magical sword around with precision soon enough."

"Good. It's one thing to learn hand-to-hand for the odd occasion you're not practicing ranged fighting, but engaging in close combat on a regular basis..."

She reached up to cup his face with her free hand, leaning into him as she assured him, "I'll be fine, vhenan. I'm in good hands."

"Hmmm... yes, you are."

Cullen suddenly reached over and pulled her into him, blankets and all. She gave a laughing shriek of surprise as he trailed kisses across her jaw and his hands parted the blankets to slide over her bare back. The laughter quickly turned to hums of appreciation.

"You're going to be... mmmmm.... late if you don't... o-ohhh..."

"What was that, my lady?" Cullen murmured into the hollow of her throat as she trailed off.

Evana pushed at his shoulders. "Tease."

Cullen lifted his head and regarded her in mock offense. "I beg your pardon?"

"You _know_ what you do to me, Commander. You're going to get me all worked up and then leave me to think of you all day, aren't you?"

Cullen mumbled an astonished, "I would _never-_ " as he dipped his head to suck on her earlobe.

"Liar," she breathed, clutching his pauldrons tightly as a tiny moan escaped her lips.

Cullen chuckled into the crook of her neck. "Perhaps... though if it would get you to visit me later today, I'd do far worse."

"Oh! Shocking! However... I suppose I could spare a few moments..."

He pulled away slightly and smiled at her before kissing her soundly. "Good."

"Until later... _Commander_."

He got up from the bed and pressed one last kiss on her upturned face. "I'll be waiting, _Inquisitor_."

When he'd gone, Evana let out a whoosh of air as she fell back on the bed. She bore the title of Inquisitor, but he made her feel like a common, lovesick teen. Every touch, every kiss made her shiver in anticipation. And rather than slake her desire, every joining with him made her more eager for his attentions. The man would be the ruining of her if she didn't get a modicum of control over herself.

She forced herself to roll out of bed despite the strong inclination to remain in the warm blankets. She'd be leaving in a few days, so she had limited time to train with Cassandra, speak with Josie and then with Leliana, check in with Dagna regarding her investigations into Samson's red lyrium armor, and accomplish a thousand other things. At least she'd finally caught up with the mountains of paperwork... for now.

And she couldn't forget about Orian - not again. After speaking with Josephine about the boy's seeds, she'd sought out Fiona to inquire about the boy's care. The mages were prepared to take him in, but no family had offered to adopt him. Instead, the older mages alternately watched over him. It wasn't an ideal way to grow up, but at least he would have people to care for him.

Evana sighed. Last, but not least, she needed to write her mother. The task filled her with the kind of trepidation she thought she'd left behind after her first battles in the Hinterlands. Her mother, however, was an entirely different kind of battle. How did one write to a parent one had barely spoken to in five... or rather _six_ years now? Her mother had never outright condemned her actions that had led to the attack on Clan Lavellan, but the implication had been plain.

Or, at least, that's what Evana had thought all those years ago. But now, with the newly discovered knowledge that her own mother had made friends with humans... how could her mother have blamed Evana for her actions? After all, it seemed she'd only been following in her mother's footsteps. Had her own guilt led her to misread her mother's behavior?

Shaking her head, she pulled on her training armor and quickly wove her short, silver strands into a braid starting at the crown of her head. She pulled the braid as tight as possible and tied it off with a piece of leather. Taking one last look in the mirror, she paused.

The mirror reflected an unimpressive elf with foreign markings, a bit of a flat face and a slightly upturned nose. Recently, she'd taken more time at the mirror trying to see herself through Cullen's eyes, noting the features he'd mentioned specifically, such as her lips.

She'd guessed at his fixation long before he'd told her of it. As often as he'd stared at her mouth, she'd known there had to be something there that drew his attention. At first, she'd thought the thin line of her vallaslin simply distracted him while they spoke. Others before him had found the tattoo odd.

But after their first kiss all those months ago, he'd revealed his weakness for her lips - how she pursed them when she was thinking, bit at them when she was nervous, and how they curved sensuously when she smiled at him. As she leaned forward to look more closely, she noted that her lips _were_ rather plush, something elven culture didn't appreciate... but apparently Cullen did.

With one final look, she shrugged and turned away from the mirror to start her day. He loved her and thought her beautiful. Perhaps someday she'd be able to see it in the mirror, too. But for now, all those tasks weren't going to complete themselves, so she might as well get started.

 

**

 

Evana rubbed her shoulder and set up to attack Cassandra again, but Commander Helaine held up a hand. The other woman's eyes held a touch of disappointment, but otherwise, she showed no emotion.

"That is enough for today, Inquisitor. You are progressing nicely, but your journeys have left you less receptive to the training. Might I suggest a delay in your upcoming travels?"

Evana slowly rose out of her combat stance, once again rubbing her shoulder as she rotated it gingerly. "I apologize, Commander Helaine. I fear I'm distracted by my duties. I'll attempt to be more prepared tomorrow. As for my travels, I don't think we can afford any delay. Plans have already been set in motion."

Helaine nodded curtly. "I hope you will get more rest tonight, then."

Heat rose in Evana's cheeks as she thought of the reason she wasn't getting as much sleep. As if on cue, she heard Cullen's sharp, authoritative voice rise over the din of the officers practicing in the sparring ring nearby. A small sigh escaped her lips before she could stop it. Suddenly, she was acutely aware of the two women staring at her and realized she hadn't responded to the other commander's comment.

"Um, yes. Of course. I'll be sure to do that."

Commander Helaine gave her another curt nod. "Very well. Until tomorrow, Inquisitor."

"Good day, Commander."

As soon as the woman disappeared into the great hall, Cassandra approached. She took Evana's sword and smiled encouragingly.

"You are doing well. Do not take her... disapproval to heart."

Evana smiled wryly in return. "Commander Helaine reminds me a little of Keeper Deshanna. Sometimes I feel like a child all over again, especially when she looks at me like _that_."

Cassandra barked out a laugh. "I can see how that would be difficult. But you are truly doing well. Someone accustomed to ranged fighting typically does not take to melee fighting so quickly."

"I'll just be glad to get to the point I can actually begin training with my Knight Enchanter sword," Evana muttered.

Cassandra laid a hand on Evana's shoulder. "You will get there, my friend. We can continue to practice on our upcoming journey."

"That would be great. Thanks, Cass."

"My pleasure."

Cassandra nodded and then headed off to the armory. Evana lingered in the courtyard for a moment, steeling herself for the next thing on her list - talking with Josephine. She thought about changing clothes first but then admonished herself for delaying the inevitable. She'd spoken to the ambassador since the war council, of course, but only briefly. Now was the time to make any amends - before it was too late.

"Oh, Inquisitor!" Josie called out when Evana entered her office. "Good. I was just about to send Juliette for you. I have two things. Here's the first."

Josie walked around her desk to hand over a small box. Confused, Evana inspected the box curiously.

"What's this?"

"The seeds you requested. Due to a long and boring sequence of events that I'm sure you have no interest in hearing about, we happen to have a wide variety of seeds on hand. I've taken the liberty of adding a few others to your selection - many of which are native to the Free Marches."

"Thank you, Josie!" Evana exclaimed. "This is perfect! I never would've thought we'd have them on hand. You've saved the day."

Josephine smiled. "I am always happy to be of assistance."

"What else did you need?"

"Ah, yes. We have the information we need to secure a sponsor for the Du Paraquettes among the nobility. Now, we just need to deliver the information to the noble woman and then convince the judge to approve everything."

"So, I need to head back to Val Royeaux?"

Josephine nodded sheepishly. "Yes. I'm afraid there is no getting around it."

Evana shrugged. "I'm already wandering all over Ferelden... might as well visit Orlais as well. We were planning to go to the Storm Coast first. If you can arrange passage from Jader to Val Royeaux and then to the Storm Coast the next day, I should be able to take care of your requests first."

Josephine smiled. "Thank you again, Evana. Your help is greatly appreciated."

Evana nodded and smiled in return. Then, after a moment more of silence, she dove right in.

"Josephine... about our decision concerning my status as Herald-"

Josephine held up her hand. "It is taken care of. No need to worry any further about it. We are dealing with the repercussions."

"I know. And I wanted to apologize for that. I know you and Leliana would rather we hadn't told the truth."

"I will admit... that is true. It is much easier to appease the people with a comforting lie. Most do not like to hear the truth. But it is done, and we are such a beloved force for peace now that the actual harm done to our reputation and influence is far less than it would have been earlier on. Many are willing to overlook the slight inaccuracies of how you attained your mark. Others see the intercession of the Divine - even without the presence of Andraste - as proof that you were sent by the Maker."

At this, Evana had to laugh. "They will believe what they want, I suppose."

Josie was quiet for a moment and then spoke in a softer voice. "Do you believe your Creators have guided you in your victories, then?"

The question caught Evana off guard, and she struggled to formulate a response. After her conversation with Cassandra about the revelations from their walk in the Fade, she had studiously avoided thinking about her own beliefs. But the truth could not be ignored forever.

"No," she answered quietly. "I don't."

Josephine's normally smooth brow furrowed in confusion. "Then... you do not believe in anything?"

Evana wasn't prepared for this conversation. How could she explain it to Josie when she didn't really understand it herself? Taking a deep breath, she got as close as she could.

"I believe in... something. I don't know if it's the Maker. Or the Creators. Or maybe it's neither. Perhaps a divinity we know nothing about is truly behind these events. Whatever the case may be, I acknowledge that I didn't come this far on my own, but the people around me have had far more to do with my victories than silent gods." She paused, but then continued in a firmer voice, "Corypheus would make himself into a god, and there are people who follow him for it. With such things so easily falling into legend and myth, I can't help being skeptical."

As Josie contemplated this, the quiet between them grew. It was not uncomfortable, but it left Evana inside her own head. The more she'd learned from Solas, the less she believed in the Creators as true gods. Perhaps they'd been powerful beings or elder mages - something like Corypheus had been a thousand years ago... or what he aspired to now - but to think of them as gods?

She simply couldn't. Not after all she'd learned in the past year about how legends were made, how truth so rarely saw the light of day, and how leaders often chose the easier path of comforting lies over uncomfortable truths. What truths were lost to the ages as the Creators elevated themselves - or legend and time elevated them - to godhood? She was sorry for causing Leliana and Josie more work. But she _wasn't_ sorry for telling the truth, no matter how uncomfortable it might be. Dorian would be proud.

She was nobody's Herald. If anything, she embodied Corypheus' anti-Herald - the portent of his doom. She'd countered his every move, starting with the Conclave and culminating at Adamant. And they weren't done, yet.

Did that indicate Divine guidance? She certainly had no idea what she was doing most of the time. Her advisors and companions gave her their opinions, but the decisions ultimately rested with her. The Divine, or the spirit in the form of the Divine, had warned her that the lack of direct intervention didn't mean the Maker wasn't guiding events. Did that mean she wasn't truly in charge of her own destiny? Or had a higher power simply led her to the place she could do the most good and left her to it?

"I suppose we all must find our own way through this," Josephine finally said.

"It's not..." Evana sighed. "It's not as if I believe myself to be a lone hero. I've had so much help along the way. And maybe that's enough proof for some - to be placed in a position to help, to be surrounded by the right people, to be victorious again and again, sometimes inexplicably. But I simply need more than that."

Josie nodded. "I understand. If you ever want to talk more about it..."

"I'll let you know."

Evana gave the ambassador a friendly smile and Josie returned it gladly. After another moment, Evana turned away and headed to Leliana's office. One down, one to go.

Leliana sat in her typical spot at her desk, but the spymaster remained uncharacteristically still as Evana approached. Without looking up, Leliana spoke into the space between them.

"Inquisitor. I... I have been thinking." She paused and then finally looked up at Evana. "You remember everything now, yes? The explosion at Haven. The Fade. Escaping the Breach. In your report, you said Justinia was with you. But only you emerged in the end. Why? Why were you the only survivor?"

Evana swallowed hard. She'd asked herself the same question. The only answer that made sense was that it wasn't her choice.

"She knew it was either her or me, and she wanted me to live. I think she already understood that the power I'd gained was too important to lose."

"Of course. Of course she did. That's just like her." Leliana bowed her head for a moment and then looked back up. "Her message to me: 'I failed you, too.' I'm not sure I understand what that means. Did she say anything else? Anything at all? Please, if you remember..."

"Wait... you don't know what she meant either?"

Leliana stood up and walked slowly toward the small shrine to Andraste on one side of the rookery. "There are no answers in the Fade. Only illusions. A warped mirror. Justinia has _never_ failed me. I was her Left Hand. Now she is dead. _I_ failed _her_."

It hadn't occurred to Evana that Leliana might not understand the message. She and the spymaster didn't always agree on method, but she respected Leliana for her skill and for her faith. She'd never intended to bring more sorrow into the woman's life.

"I'm sorry. I wish I knew more. But for what it's worth, I don't think she meant it that way."

Leliana didn't turn around for a long moment, and a farewell rested on the tip of Evana's tongue. But the spymaster seemed to recollect herself at the same moment. She turned swiftly and walked back to her desk.

"Forgive me. I'm sure you came here for a reason, no? What can I do for you, Inquisitor?"

Evana followed her, a little lump forming in her throat. "Actually... I came to apologize."

Leliana's hand stopped short of picking up a few reports on her desk and hovered for a moment before dropping back to her side. Leliana turned to face Evana completely, a quizzical look on her face.

"Apologize? To me? Whatever for?"

"For making your life more difficult. I know it would have been simpler and far easier to just lie to people about Andraste. About the mark. About everything. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. And now you and Josie have to deal with the repercussions."

Leliana raised her eyebrows slightly before shrugging. "It is part of the job. I deal in lies and secrets, but I understand if my work isn't something you can understand."

Evana blinked at the blunt dismissal. "I... uh, yes. Right."

Leliana's tone and wording often left Evana feeling like a small child being reprimanded for her naivety. Most of the time she ignored the feeling, but this time the words dredged up the doubt and fear of inadequacy that Dorian had quieted the day before. Before she could shove those feelings down again - to her horror and shame - her eyes began to burn and her throat constrict with emotion. She spun away and headed for the stairs.

"Inquisitor?" Leliana called, her voice now curious... and tentative.

"Thank you, Leliana," Evana called over her shoulder without stopping. "I appreciate your time."

She fled down the stairs, slipping past Dorian's corner and on toward Solas' space. Unfortunately, Solas appeared in the alcove just as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Unable to stop in time, she crashed into him, sending papers and books flying.

"Fenedhis! I'm so sorry, Solas!"

She steadily avoided his eyes but couldn't keep the quaver out of her voice as she dropped to her knees to collect the papers around her. His eyes burned through her - she could feel them on her without even looking - but he knelt as well to gather his things quietly, murmuring reassurance to her along the way.

"It is nothing, lethallan. Please, do not trouble yourself."

"No, no. I... here."

She shoved a handful of papers at him, but he caught her wrist gently instead, forcing her to meet his gaze. Evana swallowed back unshed tears, berating herself for overreacting. _So much for all those lessons with Josie._ Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile.

"I'm fine, lethallin."

"Your face says otherwise."

"It's nothing. I'm just tired and easily overwhelmed these days. Nothing a few hours in the garden won't cure."

Solas' hand slid from her wrist and over her hand to take the papers, but his eyes never left hers. The confined area at the bottom of the stairs suddenly seemed even smaller as they knelt on the floor together. Pools of blue-gray held her captive for long moments before he tilted his head in acknowledgement.

"If you find yourself still burdened after your time in the garden, I would be happy to help you in other ways."

Solas' comment wasn't suggestive. She knew it. But her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink regardless.

"Uh, that won't be necessary. I wouldn't wish to take up your time."

"It would be no trouble, I assure you."

Evana finally glanced away and used the distraction to stand. As he rose to his feet with her, Solas cradled the mess of papers and books like a precious child. Heat rushed to her cheeks once more at the thought of what her clumsiness might have cost him in disheveled notes and lost bookmarks.

"I'll... um... keep that in mind," she mumbled. "Thank you."

She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her before she could fully escape into the great hall.

"I have a new book on healing spells. If you wish to learn more and improve your healing abilities, I am available to assist you."

Evana swallowed hard and forced herself to look back at the other elf. She'd been avoiding his company even more since the incident in the Oasis, and the guilt ate away at her. They were friends. She had no reason to avoid him.

_Then why are you afraid?_

She could not - _would not_ \- admit that she was afraid of her own reactions. So, she had no reason to decline.

"I should certainly learn as much as I can. I'll come find you when I return from my journeys."

Solas frowned. "You are leaving again?"

Evana nodded her head and smiled ruefully. "It's a whirlwind trip with Bull, Varric and Cassandra. I should only be away for three weeks - maybe four if the Venatori play hard to get."

Solas shook his head. "You should take more time to rest and recover."

"Now _you_ sound like the Commander."

She thought he might be offended by her lame effort at teasing - her effort to ease the ball of tension roiling in her gut - but he merely responded, "Perhaps because he is right."

Evana just stared. One conversation, and now the two of them were ganging up on her? She shook her head to clear the puzzled look from her face. Solas merely quirked a brow and then changed the subject.

"By the way, have you seen Cole? I have been looking for him, but I fear he is avoiding me."

Her embarrassment faded as she pondered the question. "Cole? I don't believe I have. Have you tried the third floor of the tavern? I usually find him there." She cocked her head to the side. "He _was_ unusually quiet during our time in the Wastes. Do you think something's wrong?"

Solas nodded. "He seemed agitated when he returned with Dorian and Cassandra."

Damn. She should have checked up on Cole sooner. The spirit had seemed off ever since the battle at Adamant, but she'd been so caught up in all her own problems, she'd barely thought about the boy.

"I'll try to find him," she promised.

"As will I," he responded.

Evana nodded and passed through the great hall on her way to the garden. She found the usual mages tending the gardens, enjoying the sunshine and relatively mild weather. Orian, however, was not present in the garden, so Evana took the stairs up to the mage tower. She'd rarely been to the tower since they'd finished the structure. Most of the freed mages were former Circle mages or apostates who had escaped from the Circles, so she had little in common with them. She'd spent much of her time with Dorian and Solas learning about their varying styles of magic, but she'd never bothered to learn the methods of the Circle.

_It probably wouldn't hurt to learn more about the ways of the Circle. As Keeper would say: Know your enemy._

When Evana entered the tower, she found a human mage sitting on the far side of a table on the bottom floor and reading a giant tome. As she approached him, he didn't respond to her presence, and she felt a familiar surge of self-consciousness. She chided herself and stood a little straighter. Josie would be horrified by her behavior today.

_You're the Inquisitor. Act like it._

"Excuse me?" she said aloud.

The mage raised his gaze, looked her up and down, and then went back to reading his book.

After a moment of shock, Evana's cheeks burned at the blatant dismissal, and she gritted her teeth against the shame that flooded through her. Her hands balled into fists of impotent fury at her sides.

A split second later, however, he jumped up from his chair. His eyes grew ever wider as he stammered out a belated greeting.

"I-Inquisitor! You... I... that is... I didn't recognize... I beg your, pardon... w-what did you need?"

A bitter retort teetered on the edge of her tongue, but she took a deep breath and deliberately uncurled her fists. She didn't have the energy to deal with a racist shem today, so she got straight to the point.

"I'm looking for Orian."

The mage furrowed his brows. "The little elven boy?"

Her face ached with chewed up retorts held fast between clenched teeth. "Well, he is young... and a boy... and _elven_." She pressed her palms to the table top and leaned forward. "You know, like me?"

The mage had the decency to blush. "I believe he's on the third floor with the elder mages. They're mixing potions."

"Thank you. And you are?"

The mage's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "Drennin, your worship."

" _So_ nice to meet you, Drennin," she said with barely contained sarcasm.

"L-likewise, Inquisitor."

She didn't spare the mage another glance as she turned away and headed up the stairs. Josie always said people owed her respect regardless of their personal feelings. The deference usually made her feel awkward, but in this case, Evana reveled in it. It was a hollow victory, but she was feeling rather petty today.

She heard the activity long before she found it. She ascended to the third floor and into a room humming with magical energy. Several elder mages, both men and women, human and elven, almost danced around the room as they gathered supplies. Chatter echoed through the tower, and in the midst of it all, Orian stood stirring a pot of something over a mage fire. The flame spell hovered over the floor, suspended in midair, and Evana smiled to herself. _It's a good thing Cullen isn't here to see this._

"That's right, Orian. Keep stirring just like that. You're doing a wonderful job," one of the elder women said as she blew by and dropped a handful of herbs into the pot.

The boy beamed at the praise and continued to stir vigorously. No one seemed to notice her presence by the stairs. Orian finally raised his head to look around him, and his eyes lit up when he caught sight of her.

"E- Inquisitor! Look! I'm helping make potions!"

The entire room came to a halt as the elder mages all paused to look at her. Evana shuffled awkwardly and waved her hand at them.  
  
"Don't stop your work on my account. I just came to see Orian."

The mages, as one, turned to look at the boy, who in turn continued to happily stir his pot. Then the dance began again as suddenly as it had ended. Another woman, the one Evana recognized from her previous chat with Orian in the garden, relieved him of his stirring duty and pointed him toward Evana. He skipped over to her and threw his arms around her waist.

"Hello, Evana," he whispered conspiratorially as he looked up at her.

She knelt down and returned the hug before pulling back to retrieve the small packet of seeds from her vest pocket. "Aneth ara, Orian. I have our seeds. You should finish up here, but have one of the elder mages send a note for me when you're ready to plant, ok?"

The boy's smile widened, and he nodded enthusiastically. "OK! And I know all about gardening now. I even have gardening duty when I'm not learning about potions with the elder mages. It's really interesting!"

"I'm so glad. Now, off you go!"

Orian hugged her again and then ran back to take over his stirring duties once again. The older woman had been eyeing them as they spoke, and now, with the boy back at his post, she called to Evana.

"Inquisitor. May I have a word?"

"Of course."

"Let us go downstairs for a moment."

Evana followed the woman down the stairs, pausing to wave at Orian before she dropped out of his sight. The elder mage led her into a corner of the second floor and turned to her with a hesitant smile.

"Inquisitor, my name is Anna. Thank you for taking time to speak with me. I... I believe you spoke with Fiona about Orian yesterday?"

"I did. I wanted to ensure he would be cared for."

Anna nodded. "I am the one most often available to look after him. In general, he is a good boy and causes very little trouble, especially if we keep him occupied. However, he seems to have developed a... strong attachment to you. He talks about you often. I wanted to warn you before things to go too far."

Evana frowned at the woman. "Too far?"

"You are a bit younger, I think, but you have the look of his mother about you - short white hair and a similar face markings-"

"Orian is Dalish?"

"Yes. His mother appears to have escaped from the Montsimmard Circle. His father was from the alienage in Verchiel, so she must have made her way there at some point soon after. Eventually, she was taken in by a clan in the Dales for several years. We don't know why she left the clan, and we don't know much about the boy other than that. His mother was a bit... standoffish."

Evana smiled wryly. "Most elves are around humans, especially the Dalish. But I'm still not sure what you're concerned about? I look similar, but surely the boy is old enough to understand that I'm not his mother?"

"Oh, of course, of course. He's a smart boy. An intelligent lad. But he's still grieving. And I wouldn't want the boy to have another reason to grieve... should... should you..."

Evana's heart plummeted as the meaning of Anna's words sank in. The woman's warning came from a place of concern, so Evana swallowed her bitterness and kept her voice even as she responded.

"Ah... I see. What would you have me do?"

Anna looked sheepish. "I'm not sure. Perhaps spending as little time as possible with him? I know you have something planned today. I don't think it would be beneficial to disappoint the boy. But later, perhaps... just until the worst of the danger is over."

_Just until Corypheus is dead... or I am._

"Of course. I understand. Thank you for your... counsel, Anna."

Anna bowed and returned to her duties on the floor above. Evana wandered out to the battlements, not bothering to acknowledge Drennin's tentative farewell.

The likelihood of her own death - and the wonder of how she'd managed to survive this far - hit her at odd times as she went about her duties. This time, however, it had been drawn to her attention by another, and it had all the impact of a punch to the gut.

The people of Skyhold didn't just _fear_ she would die. They _expected_ she would. Expected that her success would only go so far. Expected that, eventually, something in the mess of red templars, Venatori, demons, rifts and twisted people following a twisted, wanna-be god would bring her down.

She walked without direction but somehow wasn't surprised when she found herself in Cole's corner on the third floor of the tavern. In the relative quiet of the afternoon hour - most of the regular tavern goers were in training - Evana sat down heavily on a crate, slumped over and stared at the opposite wall.

They _expected_ her to die.

"I don't."

Cole's soft voice reached through her fog, and she automatically responded, "Solas is looking for you. He wants to help you."

"Yes. Yes. Maybe Solas... But I want to help _you_. Your hurt is bright. Brighter than the mark today. Please, let me help?"

She laughed bitterly. "I'm not sure anything can help when you're told to stay away from people because you might die."

"I don't think you'll die."

Evana turned to Cole, finally recognizing his words from before... and the edge of hysteria buried within his lilting tone. "Yes, you said that. But you can't _know_ that."

Cole shuddered. "Darkness in forward motion. I can't hear what hasn't been..." He shrugged. "But my feelings have never been wrong."

Evana gazed at the spirit boy, so fragile and yet so strong. Even as he tried to help her, she could sense the disquiet lurking under his skin. She wasn't the only one hurting in this mess, and she would do well to remember that.

"Helping you helps me," Cole said in response to her thoughts, "but... you said Solas wants to help me?"

Evana hummed an affirmation as she wiped a hand across the boy's forehead, pushing the hair briefly from his eyes. The giant, icy blue orbs reflected intense agitation, and Evana's chest ached with sympathy.

"You should go see him," she murmured.

Cole let out a rush of air as he jumped up. "Yes! Yes, alright. Maybe Solas can help."

Whether he was too agitated to make her forget or simply didn't want her to forget, she retained her memories of their conversation as he disappeared from view. It wasn't often she could recall a conversation in which he "helped." The one with Dorian while they played chess and then again as she struggled with what to do about Solas were rare examples.

But he _had_ helped her, even with his small vote of confidence. At least someone here thought she would make it through all this. She wondered if even Cullen had as much faith in her as Cole had just expressed.

Making her way down the stairs, Evana stopped to chat with the Iron Bull for a few moments about their journeys and timing for meeting the Qunari forces. She noticed Bull seemed out of spirits, but when she asked about it, he assured her he was fine. Perhaps whatever was bothering him would resolve itself. If not, she'd make sure to ask again.

She emerged from the tavern and started across the upper courtyard, carefully avoiding the equipment of the officers sparring in the ring. Shouts and clashing of weapons and armor bounced against the stone walls, and she almost missed Solas walking quickly down the step from the main hall with Cole hard on his heels. She drew closer, but stopped before truly invading their conversation.

"No," she heard Solas say firmly.

"But you _like_ demons!" Cole countered, his voice high and panicked.

"I enjoy the company of spirits, yes, which is part of why I do not abuse them with bindings."

Cole followed behind Solas as the elf continued to walk away. "It isn't _abuse_ if I ask!"

Solas stopped and looked back over his shoulder at the spirit boy. "Not always true. Also, I do not practice blood magic, which renders this entire conversation academic."

Solas turned away again and finally noticed Evana standing in the courtyard. Before he could greet her, Cole strode toward her, his face contorted into a mask of pain and frustration.

"He won't bind me. He's a mage, and he likes demons, but he won't help! You said he would help!"

Evana furrowed her brows. "Why would you want Solas to _bind_ you?"

Cole's glassy blue eyes bored into her, willing her to understand. "So I'm safe!"

He walked away and stood apart from both her and Solas. "If Solas won't do the ritual to bind me, someone else could... will! I'll become like the Warden mages! And then... I'm not me anymore. Walls around what I want, blocking, bleeding, making me a monster."

Evana shook her head and spoke in soothing tones as she and Solas approached him. "Isn't it extreme for Solas to bind you? What if that takes away the part of you that makes you... you?"

" _Helping_ makes me who I am," Cole argued. "I help the hurting. That is what I do... _all_ I do... am... me!"

"And if binding you erases your mind?" Solas asked. "Your consciousness?"

Cole turned to Evana, his eyes desperate and pleading. " _You_ wouldn't make me hurt innocent people. I don't want to hurt innocent people again."

Evana felt Cole's distress as if it were her own. She turned to Solas, desperate for a solution.

"Solas, please. There has to be _some_ middle ground between 'do nothing' and 'bind Cole with blood magic.'"

"Indeed. I recall stories of amulets used by Rivaini seers to protect spirits they summoned from rival mages. A spirit wearing the amulet of the unbound was immune to blood magic and binding. It should protect Cole as well."

"An amulet?" she mused. "Alright. How do we get one? Travel to Rivain?"

"Nothing so drastic. I imagine the resources of the Inquisition could be used to find such a talisman."

Cole nodded. "Yes. That. Good! They _will not_ take me!"

The spirit stalked away, still agitated. Evana watched him go, her worry and guilt eating at her. Solas apparently felt the same.

"I had no idea he would be so upset about the events at Adamant," he said as he watched the spirit boy stalk away, "but I should have anticipated it. He is a walking, talking spirit here in the physical world - not possessing a human but taking a human form nonetheless. He is beautiful and rare, and he is right that less scrupulous mages might wish to bind him to their service. He would no longer be Cole, though. I recommend requesting the amulet as soon as possible. Cole will not rest easy until it is done."

Evana nodded. "I'll speak with Josie about it. She may have contacts we can use to acquire the amulet."

"Good." Solas stood for a moment regarding her, then tilted his head. "Thank you for your assistance."

Evana inclined her head in return. "You are a good friend to Cole. I should have seen earlier that he... well, I assumed he'd calm down after leaving the Approach. It seems I was mistaken."

"You were dealing with your own trauma. You cannot be everything to everyone. Cole is not in any danger here in Skyhold. I would suggest leaving him behind on any missions, however, until this is resolved - more for his own peace of mind than for fear of him being captured and bound."

She smiled. "I will. Ma serannas, Solas."

He gave her a genuine smile in return, but the smile quickly faded as his eyes darkened. Despite everything, Evana's heart beat faster, and her own smile faltered.

"I'll go speak with Josie," she murmured as she started to walk past him.

But she stopped short at the brush of his fingers against hers. Her heart thumped wildly now, and heat rushed to her face as she glanced up... and was ensnared by his gaze. He looked startled at first, possibly by his own boldness, but the gaze quickly dissolved into heat and intensity once more.

"You are well?" he asked in a low tone. "Before... you seemed..."

"I'm fine, Solas. Truly."

They were close, shoulders only inches apart. His lips parted slightly as his slender fingers threaded more firmly through hers. Time slowed. Blood pounded through her ears, drowning out all other sounds.

He wanted to say more. She sensed it. But she couldn't stay - not when he looked at her like _that_.

Her body fought her, stuck languid in the spot where his eyes had pinned her, but she forced her gaze away. Then, she squeezed his hand before pushing her unresponsive body forward... and away. As their arms stretched apart, her fingers slipped out of his at the last possible moment. She pushed up the stairs to the great hall, her feet heavy, as if they wished to disobey her.

The further she got away from him, however, the more her body and senses quieted. It occurred to her, as her heart rate returned to normal levels, that her response to him was more like anxiety than it was anticipation or want. Now that she was away, she felt relief rather than a sense of loss. A familiar feeling that she never could seem to pinpoint...

Evana's eyes widened as it struck her. The feeling. Why it seemed so familiar. Shock spidered over her skin, the hairs on her arms and legs standing on end.

In those intense moments with Solas, she felt... she felt like _prey_.

All the times in battle she'd been outnumbered, templars or Venatori staring her down with a hungry look in their eyes. All those moments she'd been pursued by a powerful foe. It was the _same feeling_.

Starting with that moment as they practiced in the Hinterlands, her interactions with Solas had felt dangerous - the racing heart, the constricting chest, the shortness of breath. Each time, he held her in thrall as she waited to be devoured, just like in her dream, and each time, she fell a little further into his hold.

Even if he meant nothing by it - even if he was unaware of his pull on her - she had to stop allowing him this power over her. He might be accustomed to playing the predator, but she was a warrior mage learning to be a Knight Enchanter, the slayer of high dragons and the fearsome rival of a thousand-year-old, would-be god. Despite the fear and doubt that sometimes held her back from her true potential, she knew one thing for certain.

She was _nobody's_ prey.

_This has to stop. I will_ make _it stop._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think of this like that moment at the end of Labyrinth when Sara says "You have no power over me" to the Goblin King. It kinda like that. Only think of it like the Goblin King sticks around to cause trouble even after that moment.
> 
> Yeah. Like that.


	71. In which it pays to be Wicked (but only if you're Josie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric concocts elaborate plans, deflects unwanted questions, and otherwise meddles in everyone's affairs but his own.

Snowflake marched past Varric and on through the great hall, her back and shoulders stiff and set in a defensive posture. Varric blinked, furrowed his brow and then put his chin in his hand, pondering Evana's mood - and what it might mean.

Chuckles and the kid had stormed past him a few minutes ago, embroiled in some sort of strange argument. Perhaps that argument had caused their Inquisitor's current distress? Varric had been concerned for Cole since the boy's return from Adamant. The kid had seemed more agitated than usual but hadn't let Varric come near enough to ask about it. If anything were wrong-

Solas' appearance in the great hall startled Varric from his thoughts, and he watched with increasing suspicion as the other man's hand paused on the door handle to his study. The elf stood perfectly still as he watched Evana walk toward Josephine's office. Solas' faced away, so Varric couldn't see the elf's eyes. But the rigid, almost hostile, stance caused a different sort of worry to dance down Varric's spine and settle uncomfortably in his gut.

"Something going on, Chuckles?"

Solas jolted slightly at Varric's words, but he continued to watch Evana until she disappeared through the door to Josephine's office. He spoke in a pointed and low tone as he turned his unflinching gaze to Varric.

"Nothing. It is nothing at all."

The mage then proceeded through the door. Varric shook the ink from his quill and put it down.

"Not good," he muttered under his breath, chin in hand once more.

And yet, the mystery presented a welcome distraction from circular thoughts of the woman who'd so nonchalantly arrived at Skyhold a few days ago. Prying into other people's problems was always more fun than trying to solve your own, especially when your own were essentially unsolvable.

Varric sighed, and then stood up to make his way to the tavern. The Iron Bull had spent the last several weeks with Solas and Evana. If anyone knew what was going on, it would be the Ben-Hassrath spy.

Getting anything out of Qunari right now, however, might be difficult. He'd been in a sullen mood since their awkward dinner conversation the night before. Whatever was - or wasn't - happening between Bull and Dorian had gotten deep under Bull's skin.

The entire thing surprised Varric, if only because he'd learned early to mistrust spies. At least the Qunari in Kirkwall had never wavered in letting everyone else know what they thought, but a spy...?

And yet, when Dorian had called Bull out on his untrustworthiness, Bull seemed genuinely upset. Who really knew, though? Varric enjoyed the Qunari's company and trusted him to a point in battle. But Varric secretly thought Dorian had the right idea - keep your heart far away from spies who professed adherence to a philosophy that favored their "vision" over humanity.

Varric stepped through the door into the darkened tavern and paused to allow his eyes to adjust. Most chairs stood empty so early in the afternoon, but a few of the Chargers had stopped in for an afternoon pint. Sure enough, Bull sat with them in his usual corner, slouched down with a tankard resting on his thigh. Varric called out as he approached the subdued group.

"Hey, Tiny. Question for you."

Despite his lazy appearance, Bull's inquisitive gaze sliced through the smoky haze to lock on to Varric. "Shoot."

Varric pulled up a chair and lowered his voice. "What do you know about Solas and Snowflake?"

"You're going to have to be more specific," Bull deadpanned before taking a swig of ale.

"Well, I know Solas has a thing for her... but today, I got the impression..."

Bull shook his head. "Nothing going on from her end that I've seen or heard, if that's what you're asking. Been spending too much _quality time_ with the Commander."

Varric nodded. "That's what I thought. But I've already known one woman to succumb to the wiles of a self-absorbed, brooding elf. I just needed to make sure."

"That really bothers you, eh?"

"What?" Varric asked, feigning ignorance.

"Hawke being with someone else."

Someone _else_. Varric's heart lurched in his chest, but he kept his expression neutral. He'd learned long ago how to bluff his way through any situation, even Bull's careful observation. Besides, he and Hawke... well, nothing to see there for sure. So, as usual, he tamped down on the well of feeling bubbling under the surface and managed what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug.

"I'm just hesitant about people who break my friends' hearts. Broody has his good points, too."

"Mmm-hmm."

Varric rolled his eyes, hiding his desperation for a change of subject. "We're getting off topic, Tiny."

Bull settled a critical eye upon Varric, his gaze sweeping over Varric's face as if sizing him up for a fight. Then, Bull sat up in his chair and leaned forward, his expression thoughtful.

"Right. No talking about your feelings for Marian Hawke. Got it."

"That's not-"

"As for the boss and Chuckles," Bull cut in, clearly uninterested in Varric's protests, "I'm not saying there isn't a spark. In the Approach, they talked about 'Fade walking' together. It helped with her nightmares. Can't really follow mages into their dreams."

"Ugh... the Fade. Not exactly a romantic place."

"Mages walking in the Fade while asleep isn't the same as physically being there. From what I understand, it's more like constant lucid dreaming."

"Yeah, because I'm familiar with that whole dreaming thing."

Bull snorted at the sarcasm, but Varric barely noticed as he worked to dam the flood of unwanted memories unleashed by Bull's comments. In the last few weeks, he'd gotten over the worst of the flashbacks, but a sickly, creeping dread remained. He'd seen some awful shit in his years with Hawke, but physically walking the Fade was the weirdest and worst by far. At least his best friend had been there to walk through it with him.

Although that brought up even more unwanted thoughts as he recalled Hawke's halting words to him the night before she'd left for Weisshaupt. Words of regret and... wishful thinking. Like an open wound, if he didn't poke at it, he could almost forget the dull ache. At the slightest reminder, however, the pain cut like a knife.

"Josie taught her well," Bull continued, "but something like that - I don't think she could hide her guilt. And besides, she's head over heels for the Commander. She wouldn't risk it."

Varric nodded. "Yeah. I just worry about attractions like that - ones that burn you up from the inside out. They make you _im_ practical."

"Sounds like you've got some experience."

Varric paused, snapping his lips shut in a thin line. Bull raised the brow over his good eye and took another swig of his ale. Finally, he spoke again.

"Come on, dwarf. It's too much of a coincidence that a woman from your past and your favorite weapon have the same name."

"Bianca's are a dime a dozen in Orzammar," Varric finally said, his tone carefully light as he shifted his thoughts from the best woman in his life to the woman he couldn't seem to purge from his system.

Bull shook his head and pointed a thumb at his chest. "Ben-Hassrath, remember?"

Varric grimaced and wiped a hand down his face. He'd come here hoping to _distract_ himself from thinking about Bianca - and pondering why he'd ever let her think they could be friends. But Bull's interest could be useful... at least to deflect any further inquiries about himself and Hawke. He eyed Bull over the mug of ale the server had brought him, took a deep swig and then sighed with perfectly manufactured reticence.

"OK. Fine. Yes, I have a little experience with the all-consuming-but-never-gonna-last kind of love. Especially when she chooses to marry someone else to please her family."

"That caste stuff is important to dwarves, right? She took a risk coming here."

"Not as important as it used to be, thanks to King Bhelen, but yeah, it's still risky. She got in over her head and wants help. She knows I have the ear of the Inquisitor. That's all."

"You correspond with her regularly, then?"

"I... what? No. I mean... A little. Look, Tiny, we're not talking about me, here. This is about our fearless leader and her Commander."

"Mmm-hmm."

"She's not up for discussion," Varric said, trying to insert a note of finality in his tone.

Bull sat back in his chair, and to Varric's surprise, his good eye glazed over with a distant, far-away look. A split second later, however, the Qunari leaned forward again, his eye as sharp and observant as ever.

"No talking about your feelings for Hawke _or_ your codependent tendencies with Bianca. Got it."

Varric let out a long breathe of expertly crafted exasperation, even as he tried not to let the Qunari's words get to him. He typically didn't think too hard about his own issues. Mostly because he was a Maker-damned mess. And there were no solutions - none he wanted to contemplate, anyway. But this conversation had gotten far too serious and deep for his liking, even if he was turning it for his own purposes.

"So," Bull said in a lighter tone, "you wanna watch the boss more closely? See what we can find out?"

Varric's tension faded to the background where it belonged as the conversation turned back to the original topic. "Yeah. Might not be a bad idea. We'll do some observation in the next day or two and then work on her together when we're out wandering around Ferelden. Shouldn't take too much prodding for her to spill... if there's anything to spill. In the meantime, I've got a plan to make things a little easier."

"I'm listening."

"It's a little game called Wicked Grace."

Bull's only response was a deep, guttural laugh that echoed through the tavern.

 

**

 

After finishing his pint at the tavern with Bull, Varric spent the rest of the afternoon gathering players. Bull, Josephine, Sera, Dorian and even Cassandra promised to come. Leliana claimed to be waiting for some sort of important message but promised to join them if she could. Solas flat out refused, of course, stating he didn't gamble "anymore." Whatever that meant. Vivienne was embroiled in some sort of research and told him she had no time for frivolity at the moment. Varric actually found Cole in his regular spot on the third floor. The kid appeared much calmer, but still seemed reluctant to talk.

"Relax, kid. I'm just inviting you to come downstairs and play a game with us later on tonight."

"A game? Is it a good game?"

"I think so. Lots of people will be there. I'll come get you when we're ready. OK?"

Cole nodded, and Varric decided to leave him to his quiet corner until tonight. Taking the short flight of stairs on up, he leisurely walked around the battlements, enjoying the afternoon sun. Eventually, he arrived at his destination - Curly's office.

Cullen and Evana were the final two on his list, and he'd purposefully saved them for last. He was positive Cullen would refuse, but with the rest of the group already invited, Varric could stick around to pester the workaholic until he finally gave in.

Varric opened the door hoping to find Evana as well, but Cullen was alone, bent over his desk writing. He looked up for a moment before his eyes dropped back down to the paper. Varric's stomach dropped at the haunted look in the other man's eyes. Cullen's voice was low and surly as the dwarf approached the massive desk.

"Yes? What is it, Varric?"

"Well, hello to you, too, Curly. I came to invite you down to the tavern for a drink. We're going to play Wicked Grace, drink some ale and just celebrate the fact that we're all still alive. We need you to round out the table."

Cullen shook his head without even looking up. "I have work to do, Varric."

"And it will still be here when you get back to it tomorrow. Come on! Even Ruffles and the Seeker are taking a break with us tonight."

Cullen didn't respond and kept writing. Varric crossed his arms over his chest and waited. The minutes stretched out between them in a silent battle of wills. Unconcerned, Varric picked up a book resting on the edge of Cullen's desk and began flipping through it. He actually found himself becoming absorbed with the book on battle strategy - a chapter on anticipating an opponent's move - before the Commander sighed heavily and shot Varric an exasperated look.

"You're not leaving until I agree, are you?"

"Nope. That's why I saved you for last."

"And there will be drinking?"

Varric raised his brows. Normally, he'd have thought the drinking would be off-putting to the stodgy commander, but the tone in Cullen's voice - and that look in his eyes earlier - revealed that the drink might be a welcome distraction.

"Of course. We're nothing if not a bunch of borderline alcoholics... It would be worse if Hawke were here."

"Of that I have no doubt," Cullen agreed with a wry half-smile. "She has a talent for bringing out the best or absolute worst in people. No in between."

Cullen stared at Varric for a moment longer, let out another heavy sigh and then went back to writing. A few more moments passed, but this time, Varric simply stared over the paperwork at Cullen's drawn face. Perhaps another withdrawal episode?

That would be rough luck. Curly had only just recovered from the last one... and he'd seemed happier than Varric had ever seen him as he emerged from Snowflake's quarters early this morning. The lovers barely bothered to hide anything now. It was a dangerous mindset considering their positions in the organization, but it smacked of self-preservation more than anything else. Who wouldn't want to forget their problems for a moment in the embrace of a loved one?

Varric repeated the phrase over again in his head, making a mental note to use in his next installment of Swords and Shields. Cassandra would eat it up.

Cullen finally looked up again. This time, he dropped his quill to the desk and leaned back in his chair. He drew one hand down his face as if attempting to wipe away whatever weighed on him at the moment.

"You alright, Curly?"

"Yes... yes. Just..." Cullen looked as if he might say something more but then thought better of it. "It's been a long day."

"It's not over, yet. You're coming, right?"

Another long sigh. "Alright, fine. Yes. I'll come. Have you invited Ev- the Inquisitor?"

"I was hoping you might point me in her direction, actually. I can't seem to find her. I've seen everyone else."

Cullen looked away, his eyes going out of focus as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. "I have not seen her since early afternoon. In the upper courtyard. She, Solas and Cole seemed to be having some sort of argument. Then she... talked with Solas before heading into the great hall."

Varric let out a low, disapproving hum. "So I was right. I saw Solas and Cole arguing about something. Then Snowflake marched into the hall looking pretty upset. Cole's been out of sorts, so I figured she and Solas were probably trying to figure out how to help him."

Varric decided to leave out his suspicions. No need to poke that bear. Even so, Cullen's eyes snapped back to Varric, a flash of something dark in his eyes, though not for the reason Varric suspected.

"Cole out of sorts? What do you mean?"

Varric shrugged. "Since Adamant, he's been almost unreachable. Dorian said the kid barely spoke two words together the entire trip across Orlais. Just flitted around helping the wounded and kept to himself. You'd have to ask Chuckles or Snowflake if you want more information than that."

Cullen had leaned forward in his chair as Varric spoke, and now he leaned back again. His face had softened a bit, but the hard edges remained. Varric shifted and then gestured to the door with his thumb.

"Soooo, I guess I'll go looking for our illustrious leader, then. Let her know I'm looking for her when you see her next, will ya?"

Cullen nodded absently as he gazed off into the distance once again. "Of course."

"And don't forget about tonight. I'll have Bull drag you down there if I have to. We're gonna have _fun_ , damnit."

A weak chuckle was the Commander's only response. Varric took it for what it was and headed out in search of Evana.

He checked all her regular haunts once more, but coming up empty, Varric finally settled himself in his usual spot in the great hall. He was bound to see her eventually. The time grew late, and Josephine passed by on her way to the tavern. He asked, but she hadn't seen Evana since early afternoon - something about requesting an amulet for Cole. He was just picking up his things to head down to the tavern when Evana emerged from the garden door.

" _There_ you are, Snowflake! I've been looking all over for you."

Evana laughed a little as she approached. "Oh? I was in the garden with Orian planting flowers in the early afternoon. Then I spent a few hours in the mage tower talking with the senior mages about their methods. It was quite interesting."

"The mage tower! Why didn't I think to look there? Anyway, it doesn't matter. You're just in time. We almost had to start without you."

Evana gave him a suspicious look. "And what exactly are you starting without me _now_?"

Varric waved her to follow him. "You'll see. I've got the whole group involved... well _almost_."

Evana balked and looked toward the door to the rotunda. "I was going to go see the Commander-"

"He's at the tavern, too," Varric interrupted, giving her a little push toward the door. "Come on!"

Evana raised her eyebrows in surprise but said nothing. They made their way across the courtyard to the tavern and entered to find the group settled at a table near the front. Tiny had placed himself strategically at the head of the table, of course. The kid and Ruffles were on one side, and Curly on the other. Sparkler and Seeker sat at the other end of the table, Dorian already drinking deeply from a half-full wine glass. Varric wondered if the discussion from the previous night had done more than make things awkward between the Qunari and the Vint. _One problem at a time, Tethras._

"I found her, Ruffles. Deal her in!"

"I do hope I recall the rules," Josephine said nonchalantly. "It's been ages since I've played a game of Wicked Grace."

Varric wasn't fooled. He almost turned to Dorian to make a side bet that someone would get fleeced by the ambassador before night's end, but he had too much on his plate tonight already. Best not add to it.

As they approached, Varric grabbed a seat next to Cullen before Evana could claim it. She gave him a strange look, but he just winked. They then discovered that the other seat next to Cullen, while currently empty, sported a very drunk Sera in the space beneath. Evana apparently wasn't willing to press her luck with the prankster elf, even to sit next to her lover, so she took the open seat next to Josie instead.

The placement had been strategic - separate Cullen and Evana so any furtive looks could be intercepted by himself or Bull. Right now, however, no looks were being passed at all. Cullen gazed determinedly into his flagon of ale, and a mild look of concern passed over Evana's face as she failed to catch his eye. Varric curled his lips into a wry expression as he tried to figure out this new puzzle, but Bull's gruff voice cut through Varric's concentration.

"Are we playing cards or what?"

Josephine laughed and dealt out the cards. They all picked up their hands, and immediately, Cassandra looked up with confusion written all over her face.

"Are three drakes better than a pair of swords? Ugh... I can never remember."

"Seeker," Varric admonished, "remember how I said, 'Don't show anyone your hand'? That rule includes announcing it to the table."

Evana giggled behind her hand as she gazed at her cards. As much as they'd played the game on the boat the way to the Approach the first time, Varric wasn't worried about the Inquisitor's ability to keep up. She also wasn't drinking anything... yet.

"There's a crown on his head," Cole mumbled, "but a sword, too. His head didn't want either."

Varric shook his head. "Don't talk to the face cards, kid."

Suddenly, Cullen looked up and around at the table. He'd barely touched his ale, but he moved as if he were going to stand up. And he still didn't look at Evana.

"You seem to have enough people, and I have a thousand things to do..."

Before Varric could respond, Dorian jumped in. "Losing money can be both relaxing and habit forming. Give it a try, Commander."

The wink Dorian sent Bull made Varric think better of his concern for the mage and Qunari. But he couldn't stop to think about it. Curly seemed intent on leaving. This wouldn't play out like they wanted if one half of the whole left the table. Varric reached out and placed a firm hand on the Commander's shoulder.

"Curly, if any man in history ever needed a hobby, it's you."

Cullen shook his head. "I simply don't have the time. There are reports and I-"

"Please... stay?"

Evana's soft voice apparently caught Cullen off guard, and he froze. Their eyes finally met over the table. The rest of the companions seemed unaware of the minor struggle happening right before their eyes, most too busy considering their cards, but Varric exchanged a small glance with Bull. The Qunari appeared to be engrossed in his hand, but the flick of his eye told Varric he was paying close attention as well.

Finally, Varric breathed out a silent sigh of relief as Cullen's face softened. The Commander nodded almost imperceptibly. Evana gave him an appreciative smile and Cullen finally - _finally_ \- smiled in return.

"As you wish, my lady."

Now that Cullen had looked up at her, Varric wondered if he'd ever stop. Evana's face flushed pink as she returned his gaze, her chin finding a resting place in her palm as her expression turned slightly dreamy. Whatever had been bothering Curly seemed forgotten, along with his cards. Josephine drew their attention, however, as she started the betting.

The rest of the evening went better than Varric planned. Cullen even relaxed enough to tell a story about a new recruit in Kirkwall who ended up in the packed dining hall in nothing but his smalls. By the end, he had everyone, including Evana, in stitches from laughing so hard. That, in turn, started a round on storytelling while Bull not-so-gently reminded them of the game every so often. Finally, Varric turned to Evana.

"What about you, Snowflake. You got any good stories?"

Evana's cheeks were flushed from the wine Dorian had shared with her and from laughing so hard at their stories, but they turned bit redder at Varric's suggestion. She waved her hands in front of her in dissent.

"Nothing worthy of following the stories that have already been shared. I think it's our professional storyteller's turn to tell one, anyway."

"Your stories are lovely, ma lath," Cullen said in a low voice. "You should tell one."

She shook her head, but shot him a significant glance. "Maybe later, vhenan."

Varric narrowed his eyes as the pair shared yet another look. They'd certainly gotten past whatever had been between them before, and with each drink, Cullen became more obvious with his smirks and glances. Evana wasn't faring much better as their Inquisitor stared at her Commander over her cards and brazenly winked at him. Dorian kept her glass constantly full, and even Varric wasn't sure how much she'd had to drink. Her coy looks from under her lashes became more heated with each sip.

Varric told his story, and then Bull gruffly reminded them of the game yet again. Finally, Josephine declared herself the winner, but Cullen was having none of it. Both Varric and Evana tried to talk him out of it, but he challenged the ambassador to another game anyway.

Varric groaned internally and watched the inevitable play out in front of him. With no coin left to bet, Cullen soon sat at the table wearing nothing but the skin the Maker gave him. Josephine had insisted on every stitch he wore, and he'd turned beet red as he'd stripped off his smalls and added them to the pile.

Varric struggled to keep a straight face, especially after watching Evana turn corresponding shades of red in sympathetic embarrassment. Her expression held a note of mirth underneath her solicitude, however. Cullen didn't share in their amusement in the least.

"Don't say a word, dwarf."

"I tried to warn you, Curly."

Evana stood. "Stay there, vhenan. I'll go get you some other clothes."

Cullen waved for her to stop. "No, no. I brought this upon myself. I'll take my walk of shame. Perhaps it will teach me to never trust a supposedly polite diplomat who enjoys The Game."

Josephine just smiled, got up from the table and turned her back to Cullen. Gradually, they all did the same to help Cullen preserve a little bit of his dignity. Bull remained where he was, however, his face planted on the table. As Varric went to stand a little away from the table, he saw a flash of movement as Curly dashed up the tavern stairs on his way to the door to the battlements. Varric also caught Bull as he sat up quickly and threw a fist in the air while watching Cullen run. Evana joined Varric where he stood by the fire.

"I'm glad you decided to join us tonight," Varric said to her. "It's too easy to mistake you for the Inquisitor."

"Thank you for inviting me, Varric. I enjoyed this."

"See, that's what I mean. It's easy to forget you're not just an icon or symbol, like those statues of Andraste holding bowls of fire. At least, it is for me. You up for another game when this is all over?"

"I wouldn't miss it."

"Good. It'll take me a while to talk Cullen into it. Maybe I'll work the 'revenge' angle."

Evana laughed. "Oh, you just leave that to me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've... uh... got someplace I need to be."

"I bet you do."

Evana blushed, but flashed him a wicked grin as she quickly followed in Cullen's footsteps. Varric turned back to the table to join Bull but found it empty. A large hand on his shoulder, however, let him know Bull was still there and ready to compare notes. Varric just hoped the other man would leave Varric's personal life out of it this time.

"Alright, Tiny," he said as he turned toward the Qunari. "Whatcha got?"


	72. In which a witch dredges up long lost memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen receives help from someone he'd rather not and reflects on memories he'd rather forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, another chapter! There are a couple of minor AU moments this chapter (you'll know them when you read them), but nothing significant.
> 
> Also, fair warning - there's a bit of smut at the beginning. ;)

Cullen woke to a chill in the early morning air and a shudder at his side. Sleepily, he curled into the warmth beside him, pulling the shivering body closer before reaching around to search for the blanket they'd kicked off in the night. The thick woolen coverlet bunched at his side and trailed over the edge of the bed, so he grabbed an end and pulled it over them.

A small sigh reached his ears as the blanket settled over them, and he brushed a kiss over a pale shoulder. He attempted to fall back to sleep, but his mind insisted on churning into wakefulness. So, he simply enjoyed the peaceful moment to hold his love and marveled yet again at his extraordinary luck.

For more than ten years, the night - and sleep itself - had become an enemy. Withdrawal made it worse. Nightmares, dark thoughts or simply guilt for dawdling in bed while work awaited would push him to begin his day before most had even woken.

Now, he savored these sacred minutes each morning to hold her while she slept - or to be held and comforted by her if he woke from a nightmare. He nearly laughed aloud as he realized that, despite the nightmares, he now _looked forward_ to the mornings he woke with her by his side. The fact that she would be leaving this morning for another several weeks of traveling and risking her life made the urge to stay with her as long as possible even stronger.

Images and memories of the night before last flitted through his groggy brain - her voice asking him to stay, his jealousy of Solas melting when she smiled at him over her cards, and then her beautiful face flushing with passion later that night. He'd only managed to pull on a pair of breeches before she appeared in his loft to peel them right back off again. He hadn't retrieved his armor until yesterday morning, but the delay was certainly worth it.

With the preparations for her journey, he hadn't seen her again until last night. They had discussed logistics of her trip for a short time, but that only reminded him of how long she would be gone - and the danger she would be in. After a time, he'd been unable to keep his hands and lips away from her, and their lovemaking had been the slowest and most sensual yet as they each attempted to memorize the others' body. He wanted to ingrain in his memory the feel of her skin under his fingers, the sound of her gasps and moans, the taste and scent of her.

He tucked his hand into his favorite position, his elbow resting against her side and palm cupping her breast, and brushed his lips over her shoulder yet again. Her even breathing led him to believe she was still asleep, but then she wiggled her backside against him. His body, already primed from his thoughts of the night before, reacted accordingly. She hummed out a sensual laugh at his obvious interest and wiggled again. Cullen groaned into her neck, then kissed it as he squeezed the hand over her breast.

"I'll take that as an invitation."

"You know very well you have an open invitation, ma lath."

"Is that so?"

"Mmmhmmm..."

He scooted back a little so she could turn to face him, and her arms were instantly around his neck as he leaned over her to trail kisses down her neck and over her breasts. The soft mounds molded to his mouth as he took a bud between his lips and felt it harden under the ministrations of his tongue. Her skin was silk under his fingers as he slid them down her ribs and over her stomach. She rocked her hips up and opened to him as his hands gradually slid lower.

"Mmmm... vhenan..."

His life had been far from perfect and his mistakes numerous. He could rightfully say that he'd ruined hundreds of lives and ended hundreds more for no reason other than a false sense of righteousness... and fear.

But in these moments, he felt he'd come as near to perfection as he would likely get in his lifetime, and he walked the ground in reverence. His fingers slid lower, determined to please. Her pleasure became his own, and he listened in awe as she sighed vocally when his fingers slid over her folds. He stroked her slowly as his tongue moved to the other bud, already firm from her arousal. Only the sound of his name on her lips could be sweeter than the moan that escaped her as his tongue laved over her nipple again and his fingers dipped deeper into her silken core. Her honey awaited him, and he lightly swirled his index finger over the sensitive nub already swollen with want.

"Oh! Cullen! Oh... but... wait..."

He stopped abruptly. "What? What's wrong?"

"No! Nothing... I..." She smiled at him as she gently pulled his hand from between her legs and pushed him onto his back. "There's just something I want to do first... something for you to remember me by."

"As if I were in any danger of forgetting you, my love."

She merely smiled and began to kiss her way down his body, her hands, tongue and teeth grazing over every part of him - arms, chest, sides, thighs - all except the place he wanted most. By the time her tongue and lips reached his navel, however, Cullen knew where she was going, and his heart nearly burst out of his chest with anticipation.

Despite all their lovemaking, this was one thing they'd not done. He'd been too insecure to ask. Would she think him callous for wanting such a thing? But now, she looked up at him from her position between his legs and _smirked_. Maker, he was going to fantasize about that sight for weeks, possibly months, maybe years.

"You... Mmmmm..."

She wrapped her hand around his base, and he nearly lost the thought. He pushed the words out before he could no longer speak at all.

"Ahhhh... you don't have to-"

"I want to," she whispered huskily.

Then, without warning, her tongue drew a wet, hot line of fire up the bulging vein on the underside of his length. He lost all cognitive function for several moments. He may have stopped breathing completely.

Probably. Definitely.

When he came to himself, his lungs burned for air. He sucked in a deep breath and looked down to see her regarding him with a questioning expression.

"Was that alright?" she queried softly.

"Yes," he gasped after finally comprehending her words. "Maker..."

"More?"

He groaned before uttering a hoarse, "Please."

He could only describe it as exquisite torture as he watched her head descend once more, and those lips - Maker, _those lips_ \- enveloped him in the silky, wet heat of her mouth. His fingers dug into the bed linens as stars exploded behind his eyes. Her tongue worked magic, and her head bobbed up and down in time with the hand around his base. She took him further in with each stroke, her tongue swirling and sending explosions of pleasure through his whole body.

His hand moved to gently thread through her silken hair, not to grasp but rather as another point of contact. He sometimes startled himself with his own need to touch, to feel the reality of her presence - with him and beside him. He could barely think with the way her mouth worked him, but even so, his chest tightened with an overwhelming sense of love and protectiveness. That she would do something so unselfish and with no prompting... he could not deserve her. Not in ten lifetimes.

She increased the pace, and he groaned with the building sensations tingling at the base of his spine. It felt so good that he held back as long as he could. Eventually, however, the urge for release overwhelmed him.

"Evana," he gasped, "I'm going to... you don't... have to..."

She kept going, and he lost all control. His hips thrust upward wildly, and he spilled into her mouth, her name ripped from his lips as pleasure racked his body. When the haze finally left him, he looked down to see her wiping her lips with a devilish grin on her face.

"Good?"

"Holy Andraste, bride of the Maker! Where did you learn to do that? No... no, nevermind... I don't want to know."

She smirked again and kissed her way back up his body. She sprawled on top of him, her head resting in the crook of his neck. Although his whole body felt like jelly, he mustered the strength to lift his arms and wrap them around her.

"I've never done that before, if it makes you feel better."

"Never done- Maker, then you just made it up as you went along?"

He felt her shake her head lazily. "Dorian told me what to do."

That tidbit rendered Cullen speechless for a moment. Finally, he cobbled together a partially coherent phrase.

"He... you... what?"

"I wanted to, so yesterday I asked Dorian what to do. He had a lot of good advice. I only pulled out the basics, but there are plenty of other things he talked about that I-"

He put a finger over her mouth, intent on saying... something... but he blanked out momentarily as the image of her lips encircling him flashed through his brain. Shaking his head, he tried to catch his previous thought.

"Don't, or I won't be able to look Dorian in the eye ever again."

Evana hummed a little laugh through her closed lips, but nodded. He took his finger away and replaced it with his mouth, kissing her breathless before raising his head to smirk at her.

"Your turn."

 

**

 

The latest and extremely brief report from Evana confirmed that the Du Paraquettes had been elevated to nobility. She'd ensured the freshly minted noble family nullified the contract on Josephine's life and then left immediately for the Storm Coast. They would arrive there any day now, and Cullen shuddered to think of all the things that could go wrong with this Qunari "alliance." Even Bull had been hesitant when questioned about it the morning they'd left.

Cullen threw the paper down on the pile of work that had mercifully dwindled throughout the day and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to relieve the screaming headache and body aches that had finally forced him to put down his quill. In addition to the familiar shooting pains and dizziness, his muscles ached, though he couldn't quite tell if the soreness came from the particularly rigorous morning exercises or from the withdrawal rearing its ugly head once more.

This morning's downpour had been a perfect time to teach soldiers that battles don't always happen in ideal conditions, but sliding around in the mud with armor, sword and shield required different muscles than a normal training exercise. The training grounds had quickly turned into a mud pit, and he was sure someone was still hard at work cleaning his armor even now. Normally, he'd never allow anyone else to touch his gear, but he simply had too much to do to spend hours cleaning the mud from every crevice of his armor. He'd bathed with the rest of the men, which meant cold water, but he'd felt better for it even if he did still occasionally find specks of dried mud on his arms or behind his ear.

Right now, however, he felt more like he'd been pummeled by a giant... or perhaps stepped on repeatedly by a high dragon.

The week started off well enough. He'd felt good. Strong. Well-rested. But during the week without her, he'd gradually fallen into his old habits - working until the wee hours of the morning, avoiding sleep and the nightmares that were sure to accompany it, struggling with the dark thoughts and inexorable itch under his skin.

Malia made sure he had food, but she couldn't force him to eat. Even Dorian's occasional insistence on a game couldn't fully distract him from his bad habits and dark thoughts. And the mage had buried himself in his own work - good work that might provide a safer, easier method for templars to leave the order. He wouldn't interrupt that work for his own complaints. He would endure.

He knew if kept pushing himself, it would come again - the pain, the disorienting memories that took him outside himself, the nausea and tremors - but he couldn't seem to stop. Work kept him busy. Work allowed him to ignore the hole in his chest. Because every time she left, she took his heart with her and left him with a gaping hole. Left him numb. If something happened to her... if she never returned to him, he wondered if he'd eventually wither away into some sort of wraith...

"No!"

He stood abruptly, shoving at the dark thoughts yet again, but they held onto him like a cancer. He pressed his fists into his desk and gritted his teeth as he fought the feelings of inadequacy, the insecurities and the overwhelming doubt in his own abilities. His responsibilities weighed him down, threatened to crush him as he contemplated the cost of his failure. He'd always failed, hadn't he? Kinloch, Kirkwall, Haven. What made him think this would be any different? He would fail again, and _she_ would pay the price.

He leaned over the desk heavily as the thoughts dragged him down, his breathing becoming shallow and thready. An indeterminate amount of time passed - he was only aware of the earlier discomfort gradually, unavoidably turning into excruciating pain shooting through his limbs. Sucking in a breath of surprise and agony, his brain tried to clear the haze long enough to _think_.

His eyes shot to the green bottle full of Evana's pain draught sitting on a shelf in the bookcase. He hadn't needed it in some time and moved it from his desk to make room for more paperwork. Now, he shuffled slowly across the stone floor, pausing to double over, groan and grit his teeth as the shooting pains in his joints grew stronger.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, alarm bells went off at the rapid acceleration of his symptoms, but he couldn't think through the pain. His legs gave out on him before he could reach the bookcase, so he crawled. His last conscious thought focused solely on the relief that waited for him in that bottle.

He never made it that far.

 

**

 

"Well, well. I come to visit the illustrious Commander of the Inquisition for the first time and what do I find? A feverish man sprawled out, unconscious on the floor. May I say, 'tis not at all complimentary to your Inquisition."

The lilting voice grated, and Cullen's hand shot up to grab the fingers that rested on his forehead. The fingers withdrew, and with them, the soft coolness of healing magic. He'd yet to open his eyes, but he didn't need to see her to know who it was.

"Morrigan."

"'Tis I. I came to make a request of you. But perhaps I should return another time when you are not... incapacitated?"

Cullen opened his eyes to gaze at Morrigan where she knelt beside him. Of all the people in Skyhold, she was the person he least wanted to see, especially in this condition. Then again, she'd seen worse.

He and Leliana had made their peace about what happened in the Ferelden Circle tower, but though Morrigan had been a resident in Skyhold for several weeks, they'd never spoken of it. Mostly because he'd never allowed the Witch of the Wild close enough to have any sort of conversation, let alone talk about _that_.

He sat up gingerly, his fingers pressed to his temples as he waited for the pain to return. It didn't. Whatever magic Morrigan had pushed into him, it was working. For the moment.

"No. I appear to be feeling well again, thanks to you. What can I help you with?"

He stood slowly and then turned to offer Morrigan a hand up. She looked at it momentarily with a sardonic quirk to her brow, then slid her hand into his and allowed him to help her up.

"There was a time when I'd have flayed a man alive for implying me incapable of doing something so simple as rising to my feet unassisted... especially a man like you."

He traded the barb for a subtle one of his own. "Your time in the Orlesian court has civilized you, then?"

His sarcastic tone was not lost on Morrigan, and she actually laughed out loud. She walked with him over to his desk, and he pulled his extra chair over for her to sit down as he took a seat himself. Her eerie yellow eyes - eyes he remembered all too well staring at him with hatred as he crouched inside his magical prison and ranted against mages - shone now with mischief as she verbally punched him in the gut with her next words.

"Civilized might be a strong word for the knowledge I gained in Orlais. But I am not the only one to change over the years. You are not the same young man I met in the chaos of the fallen Circle tower. That young man would have silenced me for even reaching out with my magic, let alone healing him without his explicit permission. Tell me, do you still wish Neria had been swayed by your mad raving? Do you wish we would have killed all those innocent mages as you asked? Do you still think it acceptable to kill a person because they _might_ be a blood mage?"

Cullen gritted his teeth and worked to control his breathing. If it had been any other night, he might have been able to shrug off her questions. But tonight, he was weak, and she knew it. Morrigan had never been one to ignore an advantage.

"I do not. As you say, I am a different person than I was then."

"Yes, you would have to be to earn the trust and affection of a willful Dalish apostate... and to be so willing to express, albeit subtly, your love for her."

He shook his head impatiently, not trusting this line of conversation. "Did you truly come here to discuss my mental state and love life?"

Morrigan gave him a half smile, her words dripping with disdain. "Of course not. Perhaps it is beneath me to needle you so. But in truth, you _are_ changed. Whether simply from age and experience or from true, sustained effort, you are... better than you were."

"Thank you?"

"T'was meant as a compliment. Or rather, the closest to one I am willing to offer considering the carnage you so often leave in your wake. I wonder if that will hold true here as well?"

The sentiment hit far too close to home for Cullen to simply shrug off her comments. So, he turned his self-loathing outward and sneered at the witch.  
  
"You said you have a request?"

Morrigan eyed him, and he wondered if she would insult him again. What had she said that wasn't true, though? Hadn't he been thinking the same thing earlier in the evening?

She must have decided he wasn't worth the effort. Or perhaps she'd tired of the game for now. She merely nodded and sat back in the chair.

"I am in need of your assistance. Property of mine is being delivered to Skyhold, and I must have assurance that your soldiers will not interfere in any way."

A delivery to Skyhold? Cullen narrowed his eyes. She met his gaze with a cool nonchalance. _This can't be good._

"I will not promise anything unless I know what this 'property' is."

"My child, for one. I kept him away until I could determine whether bringing him here would put him in danger. However, it seems we are still some ways from a final confrontation, and I am discontented to be parted from him any longer. I will retrieve him if you can assure his safety."

Cullen stared at Morrigan for several seconds as he processed her words. She had a child? He tried to imagine the apostate as a mother... or the person who would've slept with her to make that possible. He drew a blank on both counts. Not that she wasn't objectively attractive... but no, he refused to walk down that path.

"A child. Very well. But you know I cannot assure his safety any more than I can anyone else in the keep. However, you and..."

"Kieran."

"You and Kieran will be welcome here as long as you wish and will be protected as much as possible." He paused as she nodded her understanding but then continued, "But you said 'for one.' What else do you wish to bring inside Skyhold's gates?"

"A simple mirror. Nothing more. I assure you, it is completely harmless."

Everything inside him screamed to deny this request. Why would she need permission for a "simple" mirror? And why wouldn't one of the other mirrors strewn about the fortress work just as well? No, there was more to this than Morrigan let on, but he wasn't sure how she would react to an outright denial. So, he deflected instead.

"Why do you need my assistance with something of this sort?"

"'Tis a rather... large mirror. It will draw attention if delivered by traditional methods. I would wish to avoid that attention if possible."

Suddenly, everything clicked. "You want it delivered under cover of night."

"Yes."

"And the Inquisitor and her advisors are the only ones who can give permission to open the gates after nightfall."

She tilted her head in acknowledgement. "The Inquisitor is currently traveling with her companions. I am unfamiliar with Lady Montilyet, and I would... rather not speak with your spymaster. I will need _your_ assistance."

"You and I are on better terms than you and Leliana?" Cullen blurted, unable to conceal his surprise.

Morrigan considered. "You and I have less... history to complicate matters. Neria is a good friend, and Leliana tolerates her lover's whims. But despite traveling and fighting together for the duration of the Fifth Blight, our relationship is not... cordial."

He shook his head. No way was he making this decision alone. Leliana at the very least should be involved. She knew Morrigan better than any of them.

"I will need to discuss this with the other advisors."

"Over a mirror? Surely you-"

"We are careful about all our decisions, Morrigan. Assassins and spies would love an opportunity to slip into Skyhold under the cover of darkness. We'll need to assess the risks before I agree to anything."

Morrigan stood, her face impassive. "Very well. I await your decision. But do not linger. The mirror is already on its way here."

 _Of course it is_ , he thought bitterly.

She exited his office but left a heavy, nearly stifling, ambience in her wake. He couldn't stand it. He rose from his seat, thankful that Morrigan's magic seemed to be holding the withdrawal at bay for now. Walking around Skyhold without his armor always provoked a feeling of being exposed and unprepared, but he needed to speak with Leliana and Josephine before the mirror got too far along its journey.

Taking the long route around the battlements, he took deep breaths to curb the crawling unease dredged up by Morrigan's comments. Would the Inquisition be another Kinloch? Another Kirkwall? He shook his head, trying to physically dislodge the thoughts. He could not afford such distractions, no matter how his spirit quailed at the thought of being at the center of yet another disaster - this time with all of Thedas suffering the consequences.

When he felt calm enough, he eventually descended into the darkened garden. The mages had done marvelous things with the space in the last few months, and though he could see little of it in the dim light of the torches, a wide array of floral scents accosted his senses as he carefully picked his way through the space. A faint and hauntingly familiar melody wafted out of the chapel and across the cool night air, setting his chest aching with memories of fervent faith and unquestioning loyalty. Those days were gone, but the strains of the chant soothed him nonetheless.

Arriving in the great hall, he quickly walked across the hall and through the opposite door into Solas' study in a bid to avoid the nobles lingering in the space. The mage sat on his scaffolding painting yet another tribute to their Inquisitor and didn't bother to look up. Cullen quickly hit the stairs and took them two at a time to reach the library.

Dorian was in his usual corner, surrounded by a plethora of books. Despite the lack of details, Cullen had been uncomfortable around the mage for the first few days after Evana left. Dorian had been mercifully, and suspiciously, quiet about the whole thing, which led Cullen to believe the mage was planning something.

"If you're looking for our spymaster," Dorian called out to him, "she flitted down the side stairs about a half an hour ago and hasn't returned. Probably off gossiping with Josephine."

"Ah, yes, thank you, Dorian."

"Not at all. By the by, would you have time for a game tomorrow afternoon?"

"Our usual spot in the garden?"

"Indubitably. I have a serious losing streak I need to end with a swift and decisive victory. And I know just how to get it, too."

Cullen sighed. There it was. The plan - to win by embarrassing Cullen into distraction. And yet... Cullen shook his head slightly at the strange turn his life had taken. His lover, a mage. One of his best friends, a mage - one who was currently working on something near and dear to Cullen's heart.

"How goes the research?"

"As well as can be expected with Southern mages as research assistants. But I believe I've made some progress. I can update you tomorrow if you like?"

Cullen tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Until tomorrow, then."

Cullen walked around the library to the side stairs and back into the great hall on his way to Josephine's office. Unfortunately, the visiting nobles tended to congregate around Joesphine's door more than the end of the hall, so despite the short walk across the hall, he had to weave through those still sipping wine and milling around the hall.

A few gasped and tittered and hummed approvingly at him as he passed by. He felt even more naked than before, and he berated himself for not at least donning an arming doublet over his relatively thin tunic. Josephine would be proud of him, though - he waited until they couldn't see his face before rolling his eyes at their insipid posturing. He closed the door behind him with perhaps more force than necessary and then passed through the small hallway into Josephine's office. He found her bent over her desk... but no Leliana.

"Good evening, Josephine."

She stared at him blankly for a split second before laughing lightly. "Oh, Cullen! I almost didn't recognize you without all your armor. Is there something I can do for you?"

"I was actually looking for you and Leliana. Morrigan has come to me with a request, and I'd like to run it by the two of you before I agree to anything. Well, anything _more_. I've already told her she is welcome to bring her son to Skyhold."

Josephine just stared at him. One blink. Then two.

"Morrigan... has... a son?"

"That was my reaction as well."

She shook her head as if to shake off the surprise. "Well... that's certainly an interesting development. Shall we go find Leliana, then? I would send Juliette, but I gave her the evening off."

Cullen motioned toward the door with flourish. "After you, my lady."

Josephine sent him a pleased little grin and stood up to lead them through the hall. In truth, he had selfish reasons for letting her go first. With her in the lead, the nobles mostly left him alone. Whether they ogled after he passed by... well, he refused to care.

They took the door to the right - the one he'd come through on his way from the battlements - and emerged in the darkened garden. When Cullen realized Josephine's destination, however, he slowed his steps infinitesimally and approached with trepidation.

He had yet to visit the tiny chapel off the garden. With the exception of the Honnleath Chantry, he hadn't set foot in a Chantry or chapel since Haven. His departure from the templars and then the Chantry's reaction to the Inquisition had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He'd never lost his faith. Not truly. But perhaps... perhaps the time had come to reaffirm his faith in his own way. After all, belief in the Maker didn't necessarily require the Chantry. Cassandra, a Seeker of Truth, had said that to him during the early days of the Inquisition. She would never give up on the idea of reforming the Chantry, but she understood it was only an organization, not the incarnation of the Maker Himself.

He heard Leliana before he saw her, knees bent and head bowed in supplication before the statue of Andraste. Here was the source of the haunting melody he'd heard on his way through the garden earlier. He slowed to a stop at the entry to the small chapel as the sweet strains of that long-forgotten chant filled the air. A sense of awe and a peace he hadn't felt since his early days as a templar settled over him, and he held Josephine back when it looked as though she might interrupt Leliana's song. He wasn't sure how long they stood there, but eventually, the hauntingly beautiful melody faded out. Leliana turned to them, a small smile on her face, and gave a small bow.

"That was enchanting, Leliana," Josephine breathed.

Cullen nodded, seeking words that would adequately express how he felt. He found none, and settled with, "Beautiful."

"I am glad you enjoyed it. It has been some time since I sang the songs of the Maker. It makes me yearn for the simplicity of my life in the Chantry before the Blight. I was happy there." She paused for a moment before adding, "But I would have died there in Lothering when the darkspawn came if Neria had not let me tag along with her. In that light, leaving the Chantry was the best decision of my life. Ironic, no?"

Cullen felt the side of his mouth pull up in a half smile of recognition. "And I might have become a red templar if I'd refused Cassandra's offer to join the Inquisition. So, leaving the Chantry was also the best decision of _my_ life. But leaving does not mean we have to turn our backs on the Maker, even if he has done so with us."

Leliana acknowledged his words with a small smile and another bow. "True. We seem to have much more in common than I realized. We must not forget that in leaving the Chantry, we both also found the love of our lives."

Cullen felt his face flush in the dim candlelight of the chapel as he shared a moment of fellowship and understanding with Leliana. Since their communion in the war room, she seemed kinder and less acerbic. Her playful streak, however, had intensified. A few days ago, he'd found her in the rookery with Sera, their heads bent together, whispering and giggling like children. The spymaster still loved to tease him, of course, but now, her words felt innocuous and good natured.

"Indeed," he replied.

Josephine's wistful sigh brought them both back into the moment, and Leliana's smile grew into a grin. "But you did not just come to listen to me sing. Is there a matter we should discuss?"

"Yes, but..."

Cullen stopped and looked behind him out into the darkened garden. No telling where Morrigan was now. And the conversation was best had in private, anyway.

"We should take this back to the war room," he finished.

They walked slowly, Josephine and Leliana in front talking quietly while Cullen trailed behind. Leliana's melody still echoed in his ears, her lyrics filling a part of him he'd neglected since leaving the Order. Or perhaps more accurately, since Meredith's betrayal of all the templars stood for.

Even after the Ferelden Circle fell and throughout his first few years in Kirkwall, he'd at least thought he was doing _something_ right. Something worthy. He'd still believed in the templar Order and protecting people from mages and mages from themselves. Only after Hawke felled his Knight-Commander did he understand how wrong he'd been.

As he went through her paperwork, reports he'd never seen before revealed all the decisions she'd kept from him - all the horrors she'd hidden from him. He became more and more disillusioned with each tale of abuse that ended with the abused mage being punished for reporting the beating or rape or some other heinous crime committed by his fellow templars. He'd methodically gone through each report and dealt out as much justice as could be had under the circumstances, but many mages had already been executed or made tranquil. The templars who committed the abuses, however...

Many ran instead of facing punishment, and a few tried to start a small rebellion in the ranks, but luckily, the number of templars who approved of Cullen's actions were a bit larger than the dissenters. He'd kept his interim post as the unofficial Knight-Commander in Kirkwall... but just barely. With few mages left to watch and the Order too disorganized to make his position official, Cullen threw himself into working with Aveline, the city guard Captain and another of Hawke's former companions, to repair the devastated city.

It was only then that he began looking at the things he _had_ known of Meredith's actions with new eyes. For a couple of years, he attempted to rebuild the Order in Kirkwall in the image of his former youthful idealism - attempted to make it what it could never have been under Meredith.

However, the more he reflected on Meredith's betrayal, his own behavior and the failures of the Circle, the more he understood that he didn't really know what he was fighting to rebuild. He never stopped _believing_. Not really. But eventually, he stopped reaching for that unknown goal. And stopped praying. Then Cassandra found him.

Cullen shook off his introspection as they reached the war room. Morrigan wouldn't wait long for a response, and he wanted to be able to turn that mirror around if they decided they didn't want it in Skyhold. Leliana's voice held a tinge of amusement as she got the conversation started.

"So, what seems to be the issue now?"

"Morrigan came to my office this evening and requested two things. The first I've already granted as I can see no harm in it-"

"Morrigan has a son, and she's bringing him here!" Josephine blurted and then covered her mouth in shock at her own lack of decorum.

Leliana raised her eyebrows and was quiet for a long moment before she muttered, almost to herself, "She's bringing Kieran here? So much for all her threats."

Cullen shouldn't have been surprised that Leliana already knew. "I take it this isn't a problem?"

Leliana laughed dryly. "No. No. It does, however, make matters... delicate. I'll need to write Alistair."

Cullen furrowed his brows in confusion. Why would she need to write to the King? Josephine, of course, seemed to understand immediately and gasped out a strangled, "No!"

Leliana nodded. "Yes. Quite. Killing an Archdemon requires the death of a Grey Warden. A sacrifice of tainted blood. The night before we went to battle, Morrigan offered that the creation of a child from a Grey Warden as part of a dark ritual would save the Warden who slayed the Archdemon while leaving the child unharmed. Neria obviously couldn't, so Alistair did. If he hadn't... if Morrigan hadn't... Neria would be dead. I owe him this - a chance to meet the son Morrigan kept from him."

A shocked silence filled the room. Cullen tried to comprehend, but even with all the strange things that happened around him on a daily basis, he couldn't wrap his head around _this_.

"King Alistair has a son - an heir. With Morrigan."

"Yes," Leliana responded with an amused smile before turning to the ambassador. "So, you'd better come up with a good excuse for the King to visit the Inquisitor, Josie. I've a feeling we'll be seeing him here soon."

Josephine started scribbling on her writing board furiously, while Cullen leaned over the war table and sighed. "As interesting as this is, none of it is what we really need to discuss."

"You said Morrigan had another request," Leliana acknowledged.

"Yes. She wants to bring a 'rather large' mirror into Skyhold. At night. Under cover of darkness. To avoid drawing attention. She assured me the mirror was harmless, but I don't believe it for a minute."

"Nor should you. Morrigan always has a trick up her sleeve." Leliana's expression turned pensive. "However, I've never known her to actively fight against the overall good of Thedas. She will no doubt twist things for her own purposes, but I don't believe she'd place the Inquisitor in danger to achieve those ends. And I must admit, she's piqued my curiosity."

Cullen frowned. "But at night... what if an assassin slips in?"

Leliana shrugged. "I can have my agents posted in strategic locations to all but eliminate the risk. Do we know when the mirror will arrive?"

He shook his head. "I will have to speak with her about it. I hadn't thought... You honestly think she can be trusted?"

"Trusted? No. In this, however... It might not be your preferred method, Cullen, but Morrigan's expertise in the arcane and ancient magic of Thedas might be the only thing between us and certain defeat. There is no love lost between us, it's true. But if her methods give us an edge over Corypheus... That is worth the risk, no?"

He turned to Josephine. "And you?"

"I will follow Leliana's lead. She knows Morrigan far better than either of us. But what of the Inquisitor?"

"We could write," Leliana said, "but I don't think we'll get a response in time if the mirror is already on its way here."

He let out a puff of air slowly as he considered his options. "I still think this is a bad idea, but... if you think it's worth the risk, I will speak with her about it tomorrow." He directed his gaze to Leliana. "Unless _you_ prefer to?"

Leliana laughed as they all filed out of the war room, and her face contorted into a half amused, half pained look.

"Not if I can help it."

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fan fic! Wooo! ConCrit is welcomed as are any other comments/questions/grammar corrections. :)
> 
> Also, I have started a [Tumblr for my fic](http://ellenembee.tumblr.com/) where I post chapters and screen shots of my Quizzy as she progresses through the story. I also post general DA stuff there.


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